In Ruins
by Tuesday The First
Summary: The Governor told Santana three things: Find the girl, bring back the girl, and don't fall in love on the way. A post-apocalyptic AU.
1. Part I

_Summary: The Governor told her three things: Find the girl, bring back the girl, and don't fall in love on the way.  
__A Pezberry post-apocalyptic AU._

___Enjoy. _

**Part I**

Santana knelt down at the edge of the creek. The water glistened a murky blue in the white, hazy sunlight. It beat down on her back, drawing up sweat and keeping it coming so it soaked through her dirty, gray tank top. She could feel it beading up on her neck and sliding down like a stream along a river before it was absorbed into the bandana she had tied around her throat.

It was a nasty feeling she had gotten use to - this endless torture of sweat and heat that never let up. Not since the Quakes shook and the dust of the ground filtered into the atmosphere, the sun never let up after that. Acid rain was their only salvation, but any human only had about thirty minutes out in that stuff before it started to eat away at the skin.

Santana had seen too many people get singed by the stuff. She'd watch them whither and scream and the pus start to seep through the boils the water brought on their flesh. She had experience the burns once when she didn't wash down after running through it. She had to soak in a tub of ice and special salts for three hours before the sting let up enough for her to move.

"Shit," her boot slipped on the dirt, drawing her closer to the waters edge. She threw a hand backward, catching onto a dried up plant before her entire body plunged in.

The water rippled with the pebbles that hit it from her boot dislodging them from their place. Santana dug her heel into the ground, pushing back up to a crouch so her shadow casted over the water. She looked over it, examining the color. It looked fine enough. It didn't have that greenish tint that a lot of the fresh water started to take on confirming its acidic contamination. Finding something clean was a miracle and it was a miracle Santana may have happened upon.

Shrugging off a backpack, she brought it around between her knees and opened up the dusty, brown flap. A flashlight, spare batteries, canteen, canned food, bandages and more filled it up to the top that weighed on Santana's shoulders everywhere she went. Even in her sleep, she had a strap wrapped on her somewhere while out scavenging. Supplies like she had anyone would kill for. She had been lucky signing onto the force she served as a Scavenger for. If not, she'd be a shriveled up carcass on the side of the road no one cared to bury properly nowadays.

Digging to the bottom, she pulled out an old mint tin and thumbed it open. A piece of fabric lay inside, folded and wrapped over an old glass thermometer. It was a tool she was entrusted with for being a Scavenger. It was one of the few instruments that could give an accurate reading of the water's contamination. And for her, being gone on scavenging assignments for long lengths of time with only her backpack and her trusty convertible, she needed something to tell her whether or not the stuff she was about to drink would be her last ever to touch her lips.

Taking the thermometer in her fingers, she dipped it into the water, eyes fixed on the red dyed mercury as it rose steadily. Anything that was rotten, the temperature would read that of boiling water regardless of how cool to the touch it was. It was that deceiving thing alone that had a lot of people die on the spot.

Santana's first scavenging partner had been one of them. But Santana was sure, had her partner not been sick with fever and on the brink of heat stroke, she would've heeded her words and not drank out of the small pocket of water that had gathered as runoff from the lake.

The water rippled again as Santana drew the thermometer out. She held it up at eye level, inspecting where the red stopped through her black sunglasses. She stared at it for maybe a minute or so before she packed the thermometer back up and took out her canteen to fill up. Getting out another mint tin, she dropped in two periwinkle tablets that Dr. Jones and Santana's father had invented that would clean up small amounts of water enough to drink then and there.

She shook the canteen so the tablets would dissolve faster then brought the rim to her lips and drank. It was warm and hardly satisfying, but it quenched her parched throat and spread on her tongue like the most precious gift from heaven she had ever received even over the breath still in her lungs.

Taking off her bandana, she wetted it and patted her forehead down, wiped off her face and cleaned the muddy grime off her hands before tying the bandana back around her neck and stood up to go.

She walked up the slope she had scaled down to get to the creek, putting her in a vast plane of dried earth and nothing else. In a mile or so she'd hit the ruins of old down town, then a mile after that she'd hit the Town of a less than half a forth of the population that used to live there.

Pulling open the door of her little convertible, Santana climbed in, tossing her pack onto the floor on the passenger side. The car was a gift from the Governor. Maybe when Santana was five and dreamed of a Porsche for her first car, she would've thought the paint chipped, rickety, apple red car was a total poor person mobile. But since the Quakes and since the riots and looting, cars like Santana's were scarce, ones that ran well anyway. Lucky for the Town, they had people like Burt Hummel who could fix up any automobile you handed over to him, but then again, under her lady the Governor's rule, he had no choice but to get things running.

Pulling a pair of goggles over her shades, Santana turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed and whined a couple seconds before it roared to life and kept up a steady hum. Her eyes jumped down to the clock on the dash that was stuck on 3:23 and never moved before she shifted the gears and hit the gas.

One more hour and she'd be back home.

-/-/-/-

Santana was five when it started.

It began with the earthquakes. They shook everything from LA all the way across the globe and back around hitting Hawaii. They could never be predicted, but hit at random, hardly ever along a fault and lasting for minutes at a time. They broke up the earth and sent the population into frenzy.

After that, the storms started. Storms unlike Santana had ever seen. It was a wonder her family survived. Somehow they did. First in the storm shelter then in various places, hulling up with other families. They stayed close to the Jones' being old friends of the family and somewhere in there they found the Cohen-Chang's after the second flux of Quakes.

The news couldn't tell the people what was happening and no textbook had enough evidence or research to pinpoint it as Armageddon. And it made the people crazy. It made the people insane.

It was an outbreak of chaos for years afterwards.

People killed for no reason, churches burned, and faiths lost. Political leaders fell out of power, riots trashed government offices, and the streets became asphalt painted with crimson blood and salty tears.

The sky turned to gray and the sun shined through a chalky haze that made the heat unbearable and blocked out the coolness of winter. The rain turned dangerous and the clouds turned the color of the moon to a pale orange that spooked the people for months before they got use to it.

The years dragged on and the conditions steadily worsened. People found a way to survive and leaders started to create safe places to begin rebuilding and redefining their way of life.

That was fifteen years ago.

-/-/-/-

"Come on, come on," Santana jiggled the wires in the dash where the face of her radio should be. She had gotten a good half hour of tunes by connecting the wires right, but she had hit a bump and it knocked everything all askew again.

The car was stopped at an intersection in the middle of the ruined downtown. No cars rushed through anymore and no cars could with the condition of the streetlights hanging off wires and lights busted out. People use to go around to traffic lights and cut out the glass to use as covers for solar cells to help light their houses. Santana had stolen and sold a few herself to get food and clothes.

In the cup coaster, she found an aluminum gum wrapper and folded it around the wires. A few small jiggles to the wire, the radio crackled and buzzed back to life.

"Score," Santana placed the face back over the hole.

The static sounds of what Santana guessed was old country hummed through her rundown speakers. It was about the only station she could ever get unless she rewired some things. But even then there were only two radio stations close enough for her to pick up frequency from.

Foot back on the gas, she started down the road. She could see the outline of the Town in the distance showing she was only about fifteen minutes off and thank God. She had been sent out alone to rummage the old Bank District three days ago to gather what valuable and useable resources she could. The Governor would be happy about the two large suitcases full of things she had in the backseat.

Santana still had that cocky grin on her face as she drove up to the town's border. It was the only main entrance into the Town of what was left of good ol' Lima, Ohio. There were no crazy barbed wire fences or iron gates. There was just a group of Enforces manning a large arch over the road with their rifles, sweaty faces and John Lennon inspired sunglasses that Santana still got a kick out of.

There were other towns like Canton that was surrounded by a six-foot wooden fence then a ten-foot gate with coils upon coils of serrated wire all along the top. It took an ID scanned through a machine that could detect fakes to get inside. Santana only had the privilege to go in once along with the Governor. She had taken her two Guards and a hand full of Scavengers to talk to their person in charge about combining the two towns into one. Because where the Town of Lima excelled in food production, Canton had a better grasp on weaponry than them.

Unfortunately, they're Mayor, a Mr. Sumner, had basically laughed in the Governor's face and told her and her force to leave. It was a bad move on his part. No one laughed at the Governor and gets away with it and still breathing at that. But instead, she let the old man live, had some of the Scouts ambush one of the large trucks that drove in and out of Canton, slaughtered their men on board, save for one who went back screaming and crying about what Lima did.

The two locations hadn't been at peace since then, and from what Santana learned, Canton put an electric current through their fence to intimidate another attack from them. But the Governor was smart and she was never intimidated. So she kept the open plane and main entrance into Lima with the few ports out back for goods the Foragers brought in.

"Miss Lopez," said one of the Enforcers who approached the car.

Santana stalled the car just a ways from the arch. On either side of it were a pair Enforcers. She had seen them through the dust cloud her wheels kicked up goofing off until the ugly hum of her engine caught their attention and they straightened out.

"Hudson," she pulled up her goggles to let them sit against her forehead. He pulled off his round sunglasses that left an unflattering tan line across his face. Santana snorted.

His eyes blinked to the backseat. "What's in the bags?"

"What do you think?" she ticked, because really? How many times had she done this and Finn still wouldn't just let her drive right on in.

"I don't know," he folded the shades and tucked them into the chest pocket of his navy shirt that stretched along his chest tighter than normal. Well look at that, Hudson was getting some pecks. "Drugs maybe?"

"You got me. Busted. How'd you know?" she rolled her eyes and wiped the sweat from the top of her lip.

Finn grimaced at her tone and lifted a hand, signaling the others over. Their rifles jangled and theirs boots crunched over to the car. Santana sat back in her seat, listening to them undo zippers and rummage through every last inch of the cases.

Finn shrugged at her annoyed look. "It's protocol,"

"Uh huh," she just waved him off, turning the knobs on the radio that went out again.

She disliked Enforcers just as much as the town's people did. They were the police of the Town. They were the little bit of authority that was left to the people when the Governor regrouped her civilians and set up some rules. The Enforcers were the first batch of titles to be established and were some of the most nitpicky, pains in the ass. More so than the Scouts who thought they were big and bad because they were allowed to carry around guns on their belts and bounce around from town to town like VIPs. But even they seemed okay next to the Governor's Guards…

"Clear," one of the boys sounded off followed by the others in the same dull tone before they returned to their posts against the arch.

Santana's smile was condescending. "You don't say,"

"Arm," said Finn and Santana held it out, almost clocking him in his nose as he was bending down to look at the tattoo on the inside of her left wrist.

Everyone in the Town had the tattoo. It was more like a brand if Santana allowed herself to remember that she along with the others in Lima were just a piece of property. She was just another pawn for the Governor and the little diamond with an Old English S and two slashes going through it rubbed it in more.

At first she thought it was cool when she was thirteen and her dad along with the Jones' decided to stick around their home and not take a run for it to other parts of the country as most did. She used to smooth her fingers over it and trace the one slash it had at the time. When she signed on board with the Governor at age sixteen, the second slash had been inked in and she had worn it like a badge of honor. But it wasn't that. Not really.

"Finished?" Santana stopped fiddling with the radio knob and looked over at Finn who should've been finished ogling her arm. Instead, he stood there, gassy look on his face and eyes shifted left and right.

Santana pursed her lips because she knew that look. It was that look he got right before he asked if she do him, "a favor?"

"Don't even. I'm not going to sneak you anymore playboy. It almost cost Kurt the rest of his fingers." Finn cringed and Santana almost regretted bringing it up.

He and Kurt were buddies before the Quakes. During the months when the clouds clouded over with smoke and dust, a lot of people fell sick. Lungs couldn't take the debris and lack of pure water caused infection. Kurt had caught the infection, which dried a person out until the skin was about as crusted as bone and would cracked.

Right before a vaccine was made, Kurt lost his left pinkie and almost lost his leg. Fortunately he still had it but he never walked the same again. He would always have a jagged limp and an ache in his calf that stung like the burn of hot coils.

Santana spent a lot of time at his place when Mercedes went over to deliver him pain medication and some creams she and Dr. Jones were testing out for others who had fallen to the same fate. All Santana knew was that the creams didn't help and Kurt would give himself a headache with how hard he'd bite down on a towel to keep from screaming out in agony before the pain meds kicked in.

Sighing, Santana slipped off her shades to look up at him. "What is it?"

There was a flicker of a smile on his face as he dug into the pocket of his dusty, navy pants and pulled out a folded piece of crinkled paper. He rubbed it on the edge of window that wouldn't go all the way down to flatten it out some.

"Could you, uh," she stammered, glancing back to the other Enforcers before ducking his head down lower so only she could hear him speak. "Could you gives this to Rachel?"

"Berry?" Santana's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Finn winced. "Please?"

"Nope," her hand reached to shift the car back into drive but he reached down to stop her. "The hell, Hudson?"

"Come on, Santana," he pleaded, instantly peeling his fingers off her wrist. "I know you and Rachel have some sort of beef or whatever, but I can't and- please?"

"First off," Santana swatted the paper out of her face. "For Berry and I to have beef one would have to speak to the other, which we don't. And two, what's in this for me?"

"I let you go through. No protocol,"

"You already searched me,"

"Then next time,"

"Too cheap," she slipped on her sunglasses again and Finn lunged back forward, hands clutching the window tight. "Oily hands best get off my car,"

"I'll give you my dads old rifle,"

"Hm?" she tilted her shades down with an index finger, narrowed eyes staring up at him and deadpanned, "You're joking,"

Taking up Santana's free hand, Finn shoved the paper into it and closed her fingers around it. "You give Rachel this and it's yours. No catch, no jokes."

Her tongue dragged across the inside of her lip as she stared down at the folded paper. The corners were worn and dog-eared. Like he had been keeping it in his pocket for days or weeks or months just waiting for the right moment to give it away.

"What is it?" Santana tugged at a corner.

"Don't," he reached out and Santana's eyebrow cocked. Finn's voice softened. "Just- don't- don't open it, okay? It's private."

"Is this some kind of Romeo and Juliet shit where you try to get her to run away with you?" The uncomfortable shift in Finn's bulky weight made Santana's face fall. "Oh god, Finn, you know if the Governor-"

"It's not like that," he quickly recovered but Santana kept a hard eye on him until he broke and she knew he was telling the truth. "I promise. It's nothing like that. It's a letter- just get it to her, alright? You can come pick up the rifle after that."

"And that's it?"

"That's it,"

A grin broke across Santana's chapped lips as she stuffed the letter into the inside pocket of her sleeveless blazer and jerked the gear into drive. "Fancy doing business with you," she saluted off with two fingers to her eyebrow and peeled off.

-/-/-/-

Driving up the main road, Santana tried not to get stuck in the old days - the First Days - as they liked to call it. It almost pained her knowing the little boy and girl no older than five and six that ran out the water mill with their father would never know how those days were. All they knew was a gray sun, endless days of heat, and a society that had to scavenge the ruins of other cities for the necessities of life. And to think they could've easily gone to the Wal-Mart a mile off and get everything in one. Now it took teams of people just to get them one thing.

The Town stuck out like a sore thumb against the barren, desert of a landscape that surrounded it, putting more than ten miles between it and the nearest dead forest, and hours of a drive to the next closest point of civilization. Dusty barns and greenhouses with their gleaming glass stood on the edges of the town beside the truck ports the Foragers used when they headed to hunt the forests.

Houses stood just around the Town's center. They were ugly things, all wood and glass panes and simple. The biggest had maybe three rooms at max unless you had the money to afford a couple extra square feet. The Governor's income was good for her and her father so they could afford something upscale, though they hardly used it. They had no reason to with just the two of them and the Jones' next door. Instead they stashed the money away, giving the workers in the center's kiosk some extra change to get by.

Pulling off the main road, Santana took to the dirt, circling the Town around the edges with brief glimpses between houses at the town's Center always bustling and moving with people in the mid-westernesque set up.

The trunk of the car rattled as she drove over the rock, music not loud enough to be heard over the racket. Most of the roads weren't made for cars since most people didn't have them. Bicycles, yes. Bikes were the best way to navigate and the cheapest to purchase. Motorbikes were for those who had enough money or bargaining to get the parts and get one fixed up, and only the wealthiest of them all had cars.

Dust bellowed up, thick and strangling. Santana fished for the bandana around her neck, pulling it up so it covered her nose and mouth to filter out most of the air. She laid on the gas pedal, pulling around to the furthest back port that would lead her right up to the Governor's Precinct.

By the time she arrived, Santana's throat burned and her tongue tasted of the earth. She idled the car along with the others in the lot. Only the Governor had a lot and in it was an array vehicles issued out to only those who worked for her. They were made to return them to the lot every night, giving their keys to the Watch Guard and could pick them back up in the morning if needed.

Santana tugged the bandana off her face, panting in dry heat. Her fingers fumbled on the top of her canteen, dry and chapped as she unscrewed it and brought it to her lips. The water went down her throat thick as molasses leaving her lips smacking and tongue heavy.

The Governor's Precinct was the only nice building left. She had gotten the best construction workers and brightest architects to rebuild and remodel the old city hall building into something that resembled a mayor's office in the 1960s. White columns held up an over hanging veranda that had banners of green, blue, and white draping across in contrast with the red brick and brass knobs on the doors.

Wiping her mouth with the back of a hand, she watched the back doors of the Precinct fly open and a set of Guards come down. Santana climbed out of the car, keys jingling on her finger.

"Welcome back," said the first guard, his face hidden in the tint of pure black sunglasses.

Santana rolled her eyes away from the crooked smirk that broke out across his lips. "Shits in the back, Smythe. Take your keys," the key rings jingled as she tossed it into his chest. Sebastian caught them at the last second in his fingerless, gloved hand. "I'm headed home,"

"Wait up, Ho-pez," Sebastian threw the keys to the other guard and tugged off his beret. Sweaty, brown hair flopped onto his forehead. "The Governor's been waiting days for you to get back. Wouldn't want her to wait another when she's dying to see you."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't understand you through all the cock-" she cleared her throat, goggles peeling off her eyes and dangling off her neck. "-y."

His smirk only drew back more, crooked back teeth shining all nice and pearly white. Santana only saw those kind of Colgate beauties on the people in the force. Toothpaste was just as hard if not harder to come across than soap nowadays. And, hell, did it suck at first.

"Governor told Hudson to radio in when you got back," he drawled, turning around and signaling for her to follow with the twitch of two fingers. Santana fought back the urge to snap them backwards. "She's been waiting for you,"

"For what?"

"Hell if I know," he sighed long and hard as if it was throwaway information. Reaching into his cargo pants, Sebastian pulled a radio, bringing it to his mouth and pushed on a button to speak. "Got a haul in. Lopez's," his lips curved back as his eyes racked over Santana, eyes narrowed and corners tugged. "It's gonna be a good one."

The radio crackled and out burst a, "copy that," before the line went dead and he tucked the radio away.

Santana sighed in annoyance. "What's going on?"

Sebastian shrugged, eyes squinting against the sun, looking out at the lot from where they stood at the top of the steps leading to the back doors. A pick up truck came driving around to Santana's convertible. The guys jumped out, helping the other Guard move the cases from Santana's back seat into the truck's bed.

"Not for me to know,"

"You seem to already know so much,"

"I hear things," he turned to her, beret slipping back over his messy hair. "She's waiting," his back turned and Santana shoved his shoulder before grabbing the handle and yanking the door open to a gust of chilly air.

It was hardly even that cold, but It was enough to raise goosebumps on Santana's arms and make the drops of sweat on the back of her neck feel as if they had turned to ice.

A Guard waited just inside the door, green eyes flashing to Santana for a second before turning back forward. A long corridor led her into the main lobby where she padded across the sleek hardwood floor to the secretary desk that awaited her in the middle of the room.

It was only by the woman's red hair that she reminded Santana of her old neighbor Miss Pillsbury. Last she heard of her, Emma was locked in a ward unable to take the aftermath of the Quakes. Too much dust and too much heat and too much infection drove her mad.

"Name," the crusty old woman sounded off not even looking up. Santana leaned enough over the counter to see what held attention because there was no computer or phone at the desk. Santana supposed a makeshift crossword was excuse enough for such a heavy distraction.

"Lopez, Santana," she sounded off.

The woman glanced up only a second before she grumbled, "go on back," and started to scribble in a word.

Santana turned and headed down the hall on the right. The Precinct was the place everything of the three branches of government was done. Had she gone down the hall to the left, one of the doors would've filtered into a courtroom with an interrogation room right beside it. On Santana's current left and right were offices for the Lead Enforcers and the Head of Guards.

At the very end of the hall was the Governor's suite. A row of chairs lined either side of the hall. Santana walked up slowly, arms crossing over her chest as she eyed the Guard standing at post right outside the Governor's door. Both pairs of brown eyes locked for a millisecond too long. Santana was only glad she hadn't been the first to turn away and falter to a Rachel Berry.

"Of course," Santana mumbled, falling into a chair that kept at least three between her and Rachel.

She wore the typical Guard wardrobe: a pair of fatigue cargos weighed down by a gun belt and a black shirt. The toes of her black boots were shiny and the gold stars that studded her beret were just as sparkling. Her hands remained behind her back, head straightforward and chin tilted the slightest bit upward. Of course Rachel Berry had the best military stance for a group that was less than what the military use to be in the First Days.

"You say it as if you weren't aware that I do work and live here," said Rachel, voice dull from nonuse.

Santana slumped back in the wooden chair, legs thrown out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. She kept her eyes fixed on the dried mud caked on her own boots. "There are other Guards,"

"Well, as you should know," Rachel cleared her throat. "The Governor does find pleasure in causing discomfort for everyone."

Santana shifted her eyes to the corner where she saw Rachel standing as still as a board. Only her lashes fluttered as she blinked and her chest rose and fell as she breathed. "I'm aware,"

Rachel's jaw tightened at her tone. A tone of disgust and bitterness that was so harsh against the breath of a whisper Rachel said, "Santana, don't,"

"Don't what?" she snapped, fingers digging on the inside of her blazer. "How about telling your boyfriend to don't."

That was enough to get Rachel to break character and snap her neck in Santana's direction. Her wide eyes followed the hand out of her blazer and the white paper between her fingers. "Excuse me?"

"Merry Christmas," the letter flitted through the air at the flick of Santana's wrist, landing halfway between the two. Rachel stared down at it. "Well, pick it up. It's not going to read itself,"

"What is it?" she took a stiff step forward.

"A letter," Santana deadpanned. "Honestly, Berry, you use to be so smart. What happened, Hudson fuck the brains out of you?"

She saw the anger snake down Rachel's back making it rigid. Her knees popped on the way back up with her paper between her fingers. Deep brown eyes found Santana's nearly black ones and locked on. She tried not to shift in her seat, but she did and it would've given her away if Rachel weren't so focused on boring into Santana as intensely as she was.

Rachel's jaw set and her tongue spat out, "Finn is not my boyfriend,"

"Then what's with the love letters?"

Taken aback, Rachel stood up straight, letter held out in front of her like it was riddled with disease like those envelops of chemical warfare that terrorist would use during the First Days. "Did you read it?"

"Didn't have to," she shrugged, running a hand through the low, side ponytail that draped over her shoulder. She couldn't wait to get home and take a proper bath to wash the filth out of it.

"Santana, I don't think it's-"

"Santana," the voice came through the tall, wooden door in volume less than a whisper.

It shut Rachel up and had her standing stock still beside the door yet again with the letter tucked away. It had Santana instantly on her feet and clutching the knob to let herself in and shut the door of the Governor's office behind her.

She looked nowhere else but to the woman behind the large, mahogany desk in the center of the room. Santana wasn't sure she'd ever really gotten a good look at the office because she never focused on anything but the Governor. What she did know was that her desk was a large, crescent shape with a leather chair behind it. A plane of glass made a window behind her so the sun lit up the room, framing the Governor in an angelic glow that made her chestnut hair sparkle.

To the walls on her left and right were bookshelves of dusty, old, worn and cracked books. Some books of which Santana had brought in on a haul herself. They were the hardest things to keep during the Quakes. Books provided paper and paper provided fires heat and light and even cushion stuffed inside a pillowcase. But it were books that made the Town of Lima begin to rebuild. The words on the pages gave them hope and gave beauty and elegance to the Governor's speeches that helped others follow her and support her. It helped them survive.

"Santana," the Governor said her name like a breath of fresh air. It made Santana feel cold instead of warm and the grin that peeked from behind her pink lips on made that shiver down her spine all the more chilling. "Welcome back,"

"Thank you, Governor," she spoke precisely, hands held clasped in front of her.

Santana did a mental run down of the state of dress she was in: dusty tight jeans with rips all up and down them only blacked out by a pair of tights underneath. Her gray tank top was a disgusting, sweaty mess and the cutoff, sleeveless blazer had dried up mud discoloring the deep, forest green tones. Her boots, laced up to mid-calf were worn out, scuffed, and most likely tracked flakes of dirt onto the hardwood.

It was an unacceptable appearance to present before the Governor. Santana could only guess how ragged and frizzy her hair looked, or how dry her arms, tanned even more than the sun were. She pushed those things aside. It was the Governor who called her in right after an assignment. She should've been expecting the least from Santana.

"Three days is a long assignment," she continued, hands folding beneath her chin where it rested just beside a ring on her finger. "But I knew you would deliver."

"I did my best,"

"Yes, I'm certain you did," a hand slipped out from under her chin and motioned towards the straight back, leather chair on the opposite side of the desk. Santana needed no words to know she was supposed to sit. "Were you good on fuel?"

Santana nodded, her rear sliding on the glossy seat. She was sure it would've been comfortable had she not been tense. "I had one gas can left,"

The Governor smiled at that and brought her hands down to fold on her desk. "Were you and my daughter playing nice out there?" Santana stiffened, her eyes widening for a split second. It only made her wind up more at the toothy grin the Governor gave. "Well?"

"As nice as any two bitches," Santana croaked.

The Governor laughed a throaty tone that Santana wasn't sure if it was humor or tolerating. "You didn't get blood on my hardwood did you?"

"N-no ma'am,"

"Ma'am?" She repeated. Santana stayed quiet. She always referred to the Governor as ma'am. It was what she made everyone refer to her as. Anything less than that was punishable. "You've been working for me for so long, Santana. Wouldn't you consider us…friends?"

Santana blinked, teeth biting the inside of her lip a moment before she responded, "Colleagues, maybe,"

An eyebrow rose up, lips pursed. "So my equal?"

"No," Santana stammered. "I never- no ma'am-"

"Miss Corcoran," she chuckled.

"-No Miss…Corcoran," Santana tried it in her mouth. It felt so wrong, but if she insisted, "friends is fine,"

"Friends is good," she stressed and Santana nodded to the flit of a laugh the woman gave, eyeing the nameplate on the desk that read _Shelby Corcoran _in embossed, black letters. It was a wonder she hadn't ever read it before. "Would you like a drink?" she asked, back leaning into the leather cushion of her chair. "As friends of course,"

"Of course. I mean, yes. Yes, thank you."

Shelby stood up fluidly out of her seat. Her fingers tugged at the base of her pencil skirt that had risen up higher than half up her thighs. Santana forced herself not to stare at the toned plane of skin presented to her and the way it spilled out from under navy fabric in a pair of smooth legs tensed from a pair of apple red heels.

Her eyes shot up at the clink of a glass on glass. Warm, brown liquid filled two glasses that were picked up delicately in Shelby's fingers and brought back to the desk. She sat one down in front of Santana while she herself leaned against the edge of the desk in front of her so Santana's line of sight was at the bunch of crisp, white button shirt tucked at the button of her skirt. Santana picked up the glass and sipped before she was accused of staring for too long. Not that she was. No, she never did. You never stared for too long. Not at the Governor and not anyone else.

"You're fidgety today," Shelby commented, lifting the glass to her lips. She sipped, barely taking any in so it didn't spot on her lipstick red lips.

Santana swallowed the burning alcohol quickly, almost choking at how strong the heat was in her throat. She hadn't tasted something like that in so long. Everything brewed at the center's bar was so diluted one could hardly get a buzz off it unless you drank the entire bottle.

She cleared her throat, wincing. "Lack of sleep,"

"You were working hard," Shelby assumed, lip slightly pouting. It was such a strange thing to see any form of sympathy present on the Governor. "You always do. I know I can count on your haul."

Santana bit the inside of her cheek to hold back her grin. "I try not to disappoint,"

Perfect white teeth peeked from Shelby's pouty lips as she smiled and raised up her glass towards Santana. "And you never do," Santana lifted her own allowing Shelby to clink them together and followed suit in drinking it down. It hurt less the second time.

Her eyes stayed on Shelby all the while she pushed off the desk and rounded it in clicking heels to sit in her leather chair again. The cushion groaned as she lowered into it and rolled forward so her stomach just touched the wood of the desk's curve. Delicate, yet powerful hands folded together, each finger falling into place one right after the other. Santana examined the black polish that coated her nails. Where had she gotten polish?

"Santana,"

"Yes ma'am," She sounded off in reflex then paled. Shelby only smiled briefly before her face molded into the seriousness Santana was use to. Her eyes turned dark boring right into Santana's so she had nothing else to focus on but them.

"I need you to scavenge for me again,"

Santana nodded. She had heard it many times. The assignments came through General Schuester, the Head of Guards, in envelopes delivered by the Letter Runners. They had two days to either send in a plea of decline with sufficient reason or accept it and report to the Precinct for further instruction. Anything that came from the Governor herself, in her office, over some brandy was…not heard of.

Santana placed down her glass, cringing at the sound of it hitting the wood. "Where?"

"That's the thing. I don't know where," Shelby paused, allowing it to sink in. Santana's eyes narrowed in confusion, watching Shelby raise her folded hands to rest beneath her chin. Her voice grew softer. "I need you to find someone for me,"

"You want me to scavenge for a person?"

"Aren't you smart,"

Santana could taste her condescending sarcasm. "Who?"

A second passed where Shelby didn't move. She just stared, eyes blinking from one of Santana's to the other. They narrowed, probing her as if waiting for Santana to step out now, give her plea of decline and walk out of her office. But she didn't and Shelby slid backwards in her chair with a set of jingling keys in hand and unlocked what must've been a drawer. All Santana heard was something slide, the shuffle of papers, another slide and the sound of a lock.

In Shelby's hand she held a file envelope. Wrinkles ran all up down the manila paper, water stained in some places, and creased in others. It looked old like something recovered from the rubble of an old town. It sat on the desk between them, offset by a pen underneath that gave it a tilt. Santana looked from Shelby who was watching her down to the envelope. There were no words, no labels, and no markings. Just an envelope a half inch think of-

"Stop," Shelby snapped.

Santana quickly withdrew her hand from taking it up. She sat back, hands clasped in front of her and eyes wide. Everyone had said the Governor's bark was worse than her bite. For some reason Santana felt they were both equally as lethal.

"By opening that envelope, Santana, you are saying that you accept the assignment."

"Should I not?"

The laugh that filled the room made Santana's already dry throat prick with needles. "It is up to you, but you should know that this assignment won't be easy. I'm only offering you the opportunity because you're not only reliable but you are also loyal."

"What-whoever it is, Miss Corcoran, I'll bring them back,"

"It won't be that easy,"

"Who is it?"

Shelby paused again, lifting her neglected glass to her mouth to sip down the last bits of brandy. Keen eyes never once dropped away from Santana's. "I'll tell you this, Santana, you take this envelope home. You open it, and say you want to take this on you come back to me. However you open it and decline…well," Shelby smirked something not at all jovial. "We'll figure out some alternative."

"This is my job,"

"And for this one you will be given an escort," Shelby tapped her finger to her lips a few times. "One of the Guards – Rachel – will go with you."

"Rachel?" she scooted forward, hands clutching the edge of the desk. Not Rachel. Anyone but Rachel. "Miss Corcoran, I-"

"This isn't an option, Santana. I have faith in my…daughter," she wavered, "just as much as I do you. She all but needs to make sure you stay alive and if there's any one of these idiots I'd send out there with you it would be her."

Santana's brow furrowed, grip on the desk loosening. "You doubt that I'll live?"

"I don't, no. If anyone, Santana, you're the one I'm sure will return with the haul alive. You possess the…skill unlike the others,"

"There were…others?"

Sighing, Shelby rose up to go for the brandy. She poured herself another glass. "Take it or not, Lopez, but you have a week. I will give you a week to regroup, take a rest, and gather your things." She crossed to Santana, sitting on the edge of the desk once again. This time it made Santana feel claustrophobic. "I can't tell you how long this will take so I will provide you with enough supplies to get you by, in the event you use your resources wisely, at least four months."

"Four months?" Santana counted the hours, the days, the weeks that took. She never had to do anything for longer than a week. Four months was- "Ma'am, I've never-"

"Excuse me?" she hissed.

"Miss Corcoran," Santana dropped her eyes to the ground. "Sorry, I-"

A hand, chilled from the brandy, grabbed Santana's chin, tilting her head back up to look into deep brown eyes. "Will do this or you can find a new town, a new Governor, and a new life because if you refuse you won't have a life left here."

Santana swallowed. "Okay,"

Shelby grinned, letting her chin go. "I knew you'd be willing,"

_Till next chapter_


	2. Part II

**Part II**

The night was a steady silence in the house. Santana sat in the large water trough in the washroom, legs stretched out touching the other end and arms propped on the sides. The rusted water spigot dripped a couple more drops before it stopped all together. It must've been cut off time.

No places except the Clinic and the bar were allowed to have running water past seven thirty at night and wasn't turned back on until ten the next morning. Water was too scare and too valuable to let run crazy. They were lucky to even have a running water line. Most places you had to go down to the spout a half-mile off town, fill up, and lug it back.

Lifting one leg, her foot broke the surface. The skin around her toes and the knobby bones on the inside of her feet were a nasty red. She had been given a new set of boots before her last scavenge that were a size too small. She thought they'd break in with all the waking, but all they managed was make her feet sore and make a blister on the back of her ankle. Maybe if she played her cards right the Governor would give her better ones before she left.

Santana dropped her head back to rest on her shoulders. Her eyes looked up, tracing the swirls in the wood of the ceiling. She hadn't decided to do it, but there was no saying no and the unopened envelope tucked under a floorboard under her bed was a haunting reminder of the four days she had left before she needed to head out. And with Rachel.

It was almost laughable. They all knew the Governor played dirty, though no one would speak it. She was good at what she did. She was quick with her words and wise with her tongue. She was power in pressed pencil skirts and heels Santana hadn't seen since her momma wore them out to dates with her dad during the First Days.

But she was good at it because she made it uncomfortable otherwise. Putting her with Rachel, regardless how good of a Guard she was and Santana knew she was, it was like putting Hansel and Gretel into the witches house and expecting them not to take a bite out of something.

"That bitch," Santana laughed softly to herself.

Water spilled off her body as she rose up and stepped out onto the mat. Reaching in, Santana unscrewed the stopper over the pipe they had cut out a hole for on the side of the trough. The water rushed out, going through the pipe that filtered into a drain outside nearby. She grabbed a towel to dry off leaving the muddy, sand residue at the bottom to clean another time to go to her room. Tugging a chain, dim light illuminated the room from a naked light bulb hanging loosely from the ceiling.

It was a small space with a cot thrown in one corner and chest of drawers sat just beside it. A tall dresser Santana had one of the Smiths, a Sam Evans, build up for her after finding enough wood on assignments to get one for her and her dad made, leaned up against the opposite wall. She had to sneak the stuff in the trunk of her convertible for two months, transporting it little by little over to the Evans' before they could get started. It paid off and they had less a chance of moth and rats eating holes into the fabric.

Tossing the towel onto her bed, Santana found a pair of jeans that were cut off into shorts and slid on a black tank top before tying up her hair so the tip of her ponytail brushed wet against her shoulder blades. It was a welcome relief being in less clothing. During the day, the sun was too hot to wear just shorts and a tank, but the orange moon was not as fierce as its brethren.

Stepping away from the dresser, Santana went to pull her bed back from the wall. The loose floorboard had been demanding she open the envelope and find out what the hell and who the hell she was looking for. Why the Governor didn't just tell her was bizarre. Risky cases weren't uncommon. Even finding people wasn't uncommon but that was usually left up to the Scouts who dealt with tracking down criminals.

Santana's fingers had just pulled up the floorboard enough to see the envelope lying in a cardboard shoebox when there was a knock on the front door. Quickly, she snapped the board into place and shifted her cot back before getting up to answer it.

"Name?" Santana called through the door.

"It's me," came a bright voice. "Open up,"

Rolling her eyes, Santana pulled the door open to be greeted with Brittany's smiling face. Her long, blonde hair was down and spilling over her shoulders instead of done up in a long braid tied with ribbons that fell over her shoulder during foraging. Santana got a good whiff of the aloe Vera in her wavy locks as Brittany crushed her into a hug.

"Britt, hey," Santana groaned against the compression of her ribs.

Brittany released her, sidestepping to walk inside. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Santana shook her head, shutting the door and twisting the deadbolt.

Brittany's bare feet slapped against the wood across the sitting room. It was one of five rooms in the house. A doorway led away to the kitchen and down the hall were the washroom, and the two bedrooms. Her dad's went unused most days. He spent more time at the Clinic then at home and there was no Mrs. Lopez, so there was never a reason for Santana to have her own place. Between her dad working and her out on assignments, the house could go empty for weeks at a time.

Brittany made herself at home on the long couch pushed up against the far wall with her feet, soles dark as dirt, propped up on the ottoman. Santana smiled. Only time Brittany wore shoes was when she had to work in the fields or the forest with the other Foragers. Even in the baking sun, walking through the Center, she'd only wear a pair of lace up sandals while others stomped around in boots and thick, canvas sneakers.

Not Brittany. She liked the freedom, which was another reason why she was in a pair of black hot pants and an open button down shirt thrown over a sports bra.

Santana noted the small burlap sack sitting in Brittany's lap, sinking into a lumpy, old chair she had traded an old woman about to go some bath salts and a fine robe she would never use. The springs stuck out uneven in the cushion and the recliner didn't work anymore, but it was comfortable enough.

"What's that?" she asked, leg bent so her foot sat on the cushion beneath her. She massaged the sore tendons with a hand.

Brittany grinned larger, throwing her legs down and sat up. "I brought you something. From the forest," the string around the top of the bag loosened.

Santana felt her brow wrinkle in concern. "The Dead Forest?"

"Yeah, but, it's not really dead. Blaine and I find a lot of cool stuff in there."

"Like viruses,"

Brittany's face paled. "That was one time," One time Santana remembered too well.

It was the scariest two weeks she had ever had. There weren't a lot of people left that Santana knew from the First Days. Mercedes she had grown up with and had no say in whether they would be friends. It just happened because their dads were always hanging out together. But it was Brittany who Santana met when she was four with unruly hair and a bad attitude.

She had already lost her mother in the second flux of Quakes. Her dad and the Jones' were holding on, but Santana didn't know if Brittany had made it until her and her little sister walked into the Town at the age of twelve malnourished to the point the smallest gust of wind could blow the two girls away.

The Cohen-Chang's, whose daughter Tina helped at the Clinic, had nursed the girls back to health. Brittany became a Forager because it was the best way to bring in food while her younger sister, Amy, went to learn at the schoolhouse.

It was on a forage that Brittany caught something. The Dead Forest, or any forest, or wildlife that sprung up and grew as a result of the storms was questionable. The Foragers had to wear layers of clothes and breathing masks before they could go into parts of it. Brittany was clipped on the cheek by a thorn of a hanging vine off a tree not knowing that it would set in infection that would spread and culminate into fever, convulsions, night sweets, and aches.

Santana had been called into the Clinic to help then. She stayed at Brittany's bedside all night and day, nursing her back to health and telling her it would be okay though she was sure she said it more for herself. But Brittany got better and Brittany was alive.

Santana let out a long breath, rubbing at her temples with a free hand. "You know I don't like it when Anderson drags you out there off hours."

"He doesn't," Brittany shrugged, reaching a hand into the back. "I take him,"

"Brittany,"

"It's okay, San," she flashed a reassuring smile over at her. Santana couldn't help to see the sincerity in her blue eyes. "We're safe. I always wear my boots when we go."

"And your mask?"

Her nose scrunched up, brow wrinkling the smallest bit. "I'm not stupid,"

"I know you're not, B. I know…" Santana trailed off, watching Brittany take out a fistful of something and turn her hand over.

Opening her fingers, a cluster of black colored berries with the slightest red tint filled up her palm. Santana looked down from them then back up to Brittany just as she picked one up and popped it into her mouth. Santana was instantly off her feet and at the couch.

"What are you doing? Britt!"

"San, San, it's okay," she laughed, trying to pry Santana's iron grip off her wrist. "It's okay, look," she got another one and threw it between her jaws chewing. Santana watched the wad of it snake down her throat with wide eyes. "You remember these, right?"

"Blackberries?" Santana choked, her heart still racing in her chest. "Those died out,"

"Yeah, but," Brittany smacked on a handful of berries. When she spoke, a deep violet color could be seen on her tongue. "These aren't blackberries. Well, that's what Blaine said. They're something else, but they're safe and they're good. Not as good as the ones your mom used to grow though. Here,"

Santana leaned away from the hand presenting a new batch of berries to her. They looked just like the blackberries her mom grew. She remembered so vividly being out in the garden out back, helping her mother pick them while Brittany would run around the backyard, chasing a kite in the late July summer.

"How do you know?"

Brittany swallowed a new handful quickly. "Remember I told you me and Blaine were building that greenhouse in the Dead Forest?"

Santana pressed her fingers into her temple in frustration. "If one of the Guards finds out-"

"Shh," Brittany cut her off. "This is cool. Listen, okay?"

Reluctantly, Santana pushed off the floor to sit on the couch beside Brittany. She pulled her legs beneath her, elbow propped on the back and head resting on the heel of her hand. "Listening,"

"Okay, so he got Kurt-"

"He dragged his boyfriend into this?"

"Yeah, but anyway, S, you're interrupting." Santana used two fingers and dragged them from one corner of her mouth to the other as if zipping her lips. "Kurt helped get some of the stuff and we built a greenhouse in one of the places where it's not so contaminated and dead. We've been collecting the seeds and stuff from what we've been bringing and that's how it started."

Santana waited a moment in the lull, waiting to see if Brittany had more to say before speaking again. "And it worked?"

"Try one," Brittany pinched a berry between two fingers and held it up. Santana pursed her lips. "Come on. If it were bad, I'd be dead,"

"I'm still waiting for you to pass out,"

Brittany rolled her eyes. "Just one," the berry touched her lip. Santana made a sound of protest, but Brittany continued to wiggle it at the split of her lips until she finally gave in and let it be placed on her tongue.

The taste exploded in her mouth a mix of sweet and bitter and sour. It made her mouth water and her taste buds confused in what way to react. "God, that's awful,"

"But not bad,"

"I guess," Santana smacked, the after taste more bitter than a lime. She tried another out of Brittany's outstretched hand and cringed again. "No. No more,"

"Well keep'em," Brittany replaced the string around the top of the bag and placed it on the empty cushion beside her. "It's summer soon so the shortage will start and you'll need something."

Santana felt her body stiffen and the worry for her dad set in. Not that he wouldn't be okay, but the summer was the hottest and worst time of the year. So many people passed of dehydration and foraging just brought enough in to keep everyone fed the minimum.

The previous summer, Santana would find her dad sitting on the chair in the sitting room, eyes void and face blank wrecked from all the patients sick and dying he had to see in the day. She always brought him a glass of water and placed it on the floor beside him before going back to bed. But this year,

"I won't be here," Santana muttered, thinking back to the Governor. She was going to be given enough supplies for four months. She wouldn't be back until early September.

"S?" a gentle hand landed on her knee, Santana stared down at it, noting the pale knuckles and the pink tones beneath her flesh. After that virus, the color never came fully back into Brittany's skin. She would always be so pale.

Biting her lip Santana touched the top of Brittany's hand. The blood rushed back into place when she lifted it off. She continued to poke at it. "The Governor gave me an assignment,"

A pale eyebrow lifted. "The Governor?"

Santana nodded slowly. "I leave in four days,"

"How long?"

"I don't know. She doesn't know. It's-" Santana looked up into light, blue eyes. They stared down at her in confused concern. "I haven't opened the envelope yet,"

"Then let's open it," Brittany started to bounce up off the cough.

"No," she tugged Brittany back down. "It's not just an envelope, B. She wants me to find somebody."

"Who?" Santana shrugged but said no more. She didn't know if she could say anything. The Governor hadn't told her. The Governor wouldn't even let her touch the envelope unless she agreed to go along with it. "What if they're dangerous?"

"Rachel's coming with me,"

The clanking of metal from the Smiths Shop could be heard in the silence that over took them. Santana felt her back go rigid and her pulse race because Brittany was never silent. Brittany always had something to say to everything and it was always in good spirits. Not this time. Not about Rachel.

"But didn't the Governor say…" Brittany trailed off.

"It was her idea,"

She saw the series of thoughts in Brittany's head echo in each expression that crossed her face. It ended in a sad smile and her hand squeezing Santana's with the slightest of tugs. "Let's open it,"

-/-/-/-

Santana shifted her bed outwards. A fine layer of dust and dirt covered the floor except where her fingers had dislodged the loose floorboard leaving her prints in the debris. Her nails scratched at the wood until it popped up and she placed it aside.

The cardboard box that sat inside was filled with a few things. Some little trinkets she had found and thought too valuable to throw out. Like scratched up CDs and beat up old cell phones she could use to trade down at the Tech Shop. The rest consisted of small valuables Santana had hung onto from the First Days, but the most precious item was a necklace.

It was a simple thing - just a long black chain with a red rust colored feather hanging on the end of it. The chain was cold on Santana's fingers as she picked it up. The feather caught the light in its few shiny patches and she smiled. She used to wear the thing all the time, everywhere she went, at all times of the day. Why wouldn't she? It was a gift after all, and if there was one thing her dad taught her is to never let a good gift go to waste.

"I should make you another one," Brittany's voice snapped Santana back into concentration.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Brittany picking at the little dream catcher she had made out of twigs, leaves, and some yarn. It was nailed up on the wall across from her bed so she saw it every night. The leaves had browned and the twigs were now a grayish brown, but it was still a nicely crafted piece.

Dropping the necklace back into the box, Santana snatched up the envelope and moved her bed back in place. Sitting on the cushion, she folded her legs letting the manila folder fall onto the blanket at her knees. Santana stared at it just like she had the past three days, eyes tracing the creases and the lines, and the stains.

"Go on," said Brittany startling her. She sat down on the bed across from her, legs folded.

"I don't know," Santana smoothed her finger across it. The folder was at least half an inch thick. How much information did it take to find one person?

"Did the Governor tell you not to open it?"

"Only if I decide to decline,"

Brittany chewed on her lip, eyes sad as they looked over at Santana. There was no such thing as a decline unless you were sick or injured. "Then you have to go,"

"Yeah," Santana nodded, unwinding the string from the button so the flap popped open.

The paper felt grimy and rough against her fingers as she picked it up and reached in. She pinched out a couple sheets and pulled them out to lie on the bed between them. Brittany waited patiently until Santana put the envelope down and picked up a sheet before doing the same.

Santana's eyes skimmed over paragraphs and paragraphs of words typed out beautifully with a typewriter across the page. Things about escapes, traitors, criminals, deals, and more riddled the page. Names Santana didn't know and a few like the Governor's stuck out, but in regards to what she didn't understand.

Tossing the sheet down, Santana picked up another. A list of doctor's names, all Santana didn't know or recognized lined the page in three columns in neat, swooping script – The Governor's. Santana dropped it with a sigh. Her eyes bounced from a set of old wrinkled up train tickets that were paper clipped to a form to see Brittany staring at blank faced at a form.

"What is it?" asked Santana. Brittany's lashes fluttered, her tongue darting out to wet her lips and looked up to meet Santana's eyes. "Britt, what?"

The paper in her hand slowly turned. It was a profile sheet. Everyone in the Town had one. It had all of their information on it and was put on file in the Precinct. The Scouts used them to find convicts that ran off. They'd flash it around different towns so everyone knew who they were from the photo stapled to the front and where they belonged. But it wasn't the paper that made Santana's brow furrow, and her hand snatch the paper away from Brittany.

"You remember?" said Brittany. Santana nodded, studying the sunken in cheeks of the girl in the picture. Her brunette hair framed her face and her eyes that Santana remembered from when she was fifteen and never anymore after that were void and dark.

"I thought…" she trailed off, sitting the form aside and picked up the envelope. She dug through it, tossing more pictures out of the brunette with the dead eyes. She found others of family members that disappeared one after the other until all that remained was the girl until she…

"I thought she died," Santana breathed. "Everyone said she was dead,"

"I thought so too," Brittany agreed. Her fingers delicately scooped up a picture as if it would shatter in her hand. "Is she who the Governor wants you to find?"

"I don't know," Santana shook her head, eyes jumping from one picture to the other. She knew the girl and she knew the family if only because the Town was small. They hadn't been there long. Only from the time Santana was fifteen and no more well after she turned seventeen. They weren't anybodies. They were just wanderers, taken into Lima by the Governor and given a fresh start.

Santana's head shot up at the thud of a knocking fist on her front door. Brittany blinked up at her, eyebrow raised. "Dad has a key," Santana whispered. They knocked again. She held at a hand. "Give me the stuff,"

She hurried, stacking papers and files unevenly to stuff back into the envelope. The knocking persisted as Santana and Brittany both jumped off the bed for her to stash the bulky mess back under the floorboard and shift her bed back in place.

"Britt, wait," she caught her wrist before she could step out of the room. Santana made sure Brittany was looking her dead in the eye when she said, "you didn't see any of that. You know nothing. No matter what, Britt, you can't tell anyone you know about this." Two fingers zipped across Brittany's lips in the same fashion Santana had earlier. "I'm serious,"

"I promise," she whispered, taking Santana's hand so she could twine their pinkies together. "I won't say a word,"

Nodding, Santana hurried through the sitting room. Her fingers held the deadbolt in preparation to unlock. "Name," Silence answered her. She waited a moment, heart thudding against her ribs and eyes watching Brittany's teeth nibble on her bottom lip. "Say your name," she said, louder.

The thud of boots on the steps grew closer until they stopped in front of the door. "R-Rachel," came a voice. "Rachel Berry,"

Santana's lids slid shut, blacking out Brittany's worried eyes. She wished she could black out Rachel's pacing on the stoop, but it beat out in a perfect sequence of taps: _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, turn, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, turn, 1, 2, 3, 4…_

"San?" Brittany called out to her quietly.

"You should go," she muttered, forehead resting on the wood of the door. "Amy's probably wondering where you're at." She let her eyes open, stopping Brittany's lips from telling her that Amy was at the Evans' as usual playing with Stacey and Simon like she always did when Brittany went to forage. "I'll be okay,"

Brittany opened her mouth to speak but stopped. She swallowed those words and instead said, "Are you sure?"

"I can come another time," Rachel called, voice muffled. Santana nodded and allowed a pair of long arms to pull her into another hug. It was softer this time around and full of too much comfort that Santana didn't want.

"If it's not a good time-" Rachel was cut off by the door swinging open. Big brown eyes widened in shock and stayed that way as they took in Brittany's scanty attire then Santana opposite her. Her expression molded into a blank canvas. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Do you have to ask?" Santana shot.

"I was leaving," Brittany broke their eye contact by walking out of the door. She tapped Rachel on the head. "Hi, Rach. Bye, S,"

Santana threw up her hand to wave, letting it linger in the air to stall before she had to acknowledge the visitor on her stoop. "Is there a reason you're here?"

"If you'd invite me in-" Rachel paused, backtracking her words at the glare she received. "Or we can speak out here though it isn't wise. The people in Lima are known for eavesdropping and the gossip they spread is one person away from turning ugly and resulting in trials and possibly death sentences-"

"Why are you here, Berry?" Santana groaned, shoulder leaning against the doorjamb. She folded her arms tight around her chest, looking her over in the dull light of her porch lamp.

Guard get up ditched, she wore a tan skirt, boots, and simple black shirt. It was in such contrast to the military stance Santana had gotten use to seeing though she once had the privilege to see Rachel out of that dumb uniform and in much less-

Rachel tucked a hair behind her ear, eyes dropping down to look at her lace up boots that went all the way up to her knees. "I came to say- to say thank you,"

Without hesitation, "For what?"

Rachel's head came back up quickly. "For delivering the letter from Finn,"

Santana had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from cursing or sneering, or yelling that Rachel needed to get off her damn porch and get the fuck home. She felt the anger boil in her stomach and ignite in her chest making it ache. It took more then a few deep breaths before she was calm enough to speak into the awkward silence Rachel must have known she'd caused with that.

"He offered a good deal," which Santana had, wrapped in burlap and sitting up against the wall in her room. It would be a great addition to her berretta and knives she had for scavenging. More so than Rachel who was still standing on her porch, blabbing about Finn.

"You didn't have to," Rachel paused, the corner of her mouth kinking up the tiniest bit. "So thank you," Glossy brown eyes peeked up through thick lashes and Santana had enough. Stepping backwards, she grabbed the door ready to slam it when Rachel rushed forward, pushing against it

"Santana, wait, i-"

"What?" She barked, yanking the door back. Rachel stumbled backwards a few steps, cowering at the snarl in her voice. There had only been one other time Santana had seen Rachel cower like that and it was a scenerio almost close to the one they were currently in.

Rachel's voice, eyes, and head dropped. She wrung her wrist with one hand, fumbling with her fingers and making the skin red. "I wanted to…"

"Does your mom even know you're here?" Santana asked, arms folding over her chest once again. Rachel cringed. Whether it be to the harshness of her words or the mention of her mother Santana didn't know. Whatever it was, Rachel didn't speak. "Shit, you're a real piece of work,"

"I'm sorry," her voice squeaked out. With her head angled down, all Santana could see were Rachel's lashes fluttering rapidly.

"What the hell for?"

"For-" her hands stopped fumbling so her arms dropped down to her sides. Leaving her too open, Rachel pulled her arms around herself. "For everything," she croaked, small and fragile. "I'm sorry," there was a sniffle.

Santana felt her body wind up into knots. Her stared down at the top of Rachel's head, seeing her shoulders give the smallest quake. "Are you crying?" It was too much. It was too much like before and it compressed her chest into a painful clench.

"Hey," Santana called. Rachel shook her head. Sighing, she stepped out, pulling the door to. She leaned up against the house, head angled upwards at the overhang. "Stop crying," she whispered.

Rachel swiped at her cheek with a hand, her sniffs tapering out. Santana kept her focus on the navy sky that was hazed over by a chalky film that looked like smog. It made the orange tinted moon look like a misty shadow against thick, smoke colored clouds. What stars she could see were barely flickers of light. She missed the stars.

Santana dropped her head, bypassing having to look at Rachel's shining eyes on the way. Her toe poked at a hole in the wood of the porch. "What did the letter say?"

Rachel choked out a humorless laugh. She wiped away the last stray tear. "You wouldn't care,"

"Are you two planning to elope?" Santana teased.

Her mouth bobbed a moment, finding something to say. Rachel settled on, "It's not important,"

Santana looked her in the eyes. She saw Rachel shift uncomfortably in her gaze. "Maybe I want to know,"

"It's useless information to you," Rachel sighed, looking away from her. The floorboards creaked as she walked across the porch. Her arm wrapping around the post column, body leaning into it so her back was to Santana. "Have you opened the envelope?"

"Have you?"

"I've seen it enough times to know what it is,"

"Then you know what's in it," Santana assumed, but the waves in Rachel's hair as she shook her head told otherwise. Santana let out a long breath. "You're coming with me,"

"What?" Rachel gaped, turning over her shoulder. The yellow light of the blub made her chocolate eyes burn the color of fresh honey. It was the most live Santana had seen them look in years.

"She didn't tell you,"

"No, but there is hardly much my mother discusses with me." Rachel's voice turned sour as it drifted on the wind away from Santana. "Matters pertaining to you are usually the lowest unless she's feeling highly sadistic."

Santana sucked her teeth, the bitterness in Rachel's voice making her uneasy. "Why is she doing this?"

"I'm not sure, though I may have an idea as to why." Rachel slouched against the post, her knees bending and shoulders sagging. The posture was very unlike Rachel. "It's so she has a reason to get rid of me."

"I'd go first,"

"Sharing blood with the Governor hardly makes me anything of lovable value to her." The way Rachel said it made Santana's chest twist and the forced smile on her full lips only twisted it more. "However you, Santana, she finds valuable enough to call a friend." Her eyes shifted up, catching the surprise in Santana's own. "I have very good ears, remember?"

Santana's jaw tightened. The Governor was a lot of things to her, but she would never allow her so close as a friend. Not with someone who had the power to blink and have her killed on the spot. Not with someone who hardly claimed her own child as such. And yet she still kept Rachel close, forcing the knife into her heart little by little everyday.

"She isn't my friend," Santana murmured.

The forced smile stretched to genuine, undoing the knots in Santana's ribs and letting her breathe a little easier again. "That's good to hear," Rachel pushed off the post, dusting her hands before wiping them on the pleats of her skirt. "I should go," Rachel skipped down the steps. "I appreciate you speaking with me,"

"Yeah," Santana groaned, keeping her gaze on the overhang once again and not the flashes of skin each bounce Rachel took down off the stoop her skirt awarded her with.

"Goodnight, Santana," Rachel whispered into the night.

Santana listened to the crunch of her boots against the road until the sound faded away to nothing. "Goodnight, Rach," she said to the wind and slipped inside.

-/-/-/-

It was a dry heat at the sun's peak in the town. The winds whipped up from the south bringing nothing but dusty warm air. It lifted the dirt and tossed it about so it smothered everything and clouded vision already scarce through shades and goggles.

Santana held the flap of her bandana down over her mouth as she walked through the Center. Workers in kiosk hurried to draw tarps over the sides to keep most of the sand out while the indoor shopkeepers locked the windows tight and fussed at customers to stop leaving the door open too long.

A heavy gust blew a cloud of dirt up thick as fog. Santana trotted down the street, satchel banging on her back and feet moving her out of the way before a cart could roll over her toe. The clank of metal at the Smiths shop sounded from behind the large hanging tarp that was draped over the front. With the next gust, one of the corners flapped up, snapping in the wind.

Santana hurried to duck underneath it and inside to find Sam already hurrying to tie the corner back down. "Hold the knot," he directed through a bandana wrapped on his own face.

Santana pressed her fingers to the knot. Sam wrapped the twine around a metal hook a couple more times then pulled it taught. The tarp vibrated and rippled with the wind creating an ugly roaring sound. Stepping back, Santana tugged down her bandana and spit onto the dirt of the ground to get the grains of sand off her tongue.

"Real lady like,"

"You'd know, lady lips," Santana taunted back. Sam punched her lightly in the shoulder, passing her a small canteen for her to rinse the rest of the grime out of her mouth.

The Smiths shop was just a garage with an awning the thrust the workspace out of the shopping area. Slabs of plywood made up the floor on the outside weighed down and bowing from blacksmith's equipment and heavy tools. Inside the garage portion, a counter stood with Mr. Evans sitting behind, polishing a blade of a machete. Around him on the walls hung all sorts of weaponry and propped up on one wall were two-by-fours, plywood, balsa wood, whatever needed to build.

Santana followed over to the chair Sam had returned to. In gloved hands, he held a hammer, banging down on a thick of metal. "What're you making?"

"Fillings," he said, holding up the piece of silver to examine. "Dr. Jones requested 'em."

"Ouch," He lowered the hammer again. Santana took another swig of water, waving back to Mr. Evans who peered up at her over bifocals and smiled.

She walked around the workspace, surveying a table, filthy with sawdust. A saw lay on it with a freshly cut two-by-four. She dragged her finger along the sharp teeth of the saw. "I got a favor for you,"

He let out a long, exhausted breath, running a cloth over his brow to dry up the sweat. "Name your bargain,"

"Blackberry pie?" Santana offered. Sam stopped his hammering to turn over his shoulder. Pushing up working goggles, he stared at her with warm green eyes. "Mamma Jones' old recipe," Santana grinned and Sam's eyes narrowed.

Slipping his goggles back on, he turned around to get back to work. "You're lying,"

"Sort of, but the taste is close enough," Santana walked around to crouch in his line of sight. Sam just shook his head so locks of blonde hair waved sweat damp at his eyebrows. "Mrs. Jones has enough sugar to make it good. Hey," Santana slapped her hand over the piece of metal as Sam reeled the hammer back.

"Hey, hey, what're you doing?" He snapped, glaring at Santana's pursed lips. He lowered the hammer that was just inches away from crushing her fingers. He sighed, taking the bait. "Where'd you get blackberries from?"

"Brittany," Santana sounded off, her knees popping as she stood back up, hands on her hips. "And they're not blackberries. Close though,"

Sam rubbed his chin with a dirty finger. Santana noted the stubble growing there. It only reminded her of how old they all were now and how long they'd been living there. "What's the favor?"

Smiling, Santana shouldered off her pack and dug out her sheath of knives. "I need these sharpened. I can't ever get them as sharp as you,"

Sam smirked sly. "That's cause I'm talented with my hands,"

"Ugh, don't," she dropped the knives down onto the anvil he was banging on. "Only thing I think of with your talented hands is them on Mercedes,"

"She's got a talented mouth,"

Santana held up a finger to silence him. "One more strike and you won'ts be gettin' that pie,"

"Whatever," Sam laughed, picking up the sheath. He placed the knives on a cinder block by his foot. "I'll bring'em by on my way home tonight."

Santana ruffled his sandy, blonde hair with a hand. He ducked from beneath it. "I'll have Mercedes deliver your payment,"

"Better be good!" he shouted as Santana pushed back the side of the tarp so wind whooshed in and walked back out into the heat.

Santana tightened the knot on the back of her bandana. The streets were fairly empty now. The dust clouds always took people indoors but it hadn't gotten to the point of a dust storm. Those kept everyone off the streets and shut down the Town for half an hour or however long they lasted. Only people who dared be out in one were the workers at the water mill making sure no debris got into the wells.

A man shouldering a large, burlap sack of something tipped his hat to Santana just as she made it onto the porch of the Clinic. The bell jingled as she opened the door and quickly jumped in to shut the door.

"Shoes," someone called, probably Tina, from the back.

Santana knocked most of the dust off her boots onto the dirty welcome mat then slipped them off the join the other pairs in a large, wooden cubby beside the door. With so much sickness and infection in the Town as it were, there was no reason tracking in dirt and risking it anymore. It made the Clinic the cleanest place in all Lima.

The glossy, wooden floor was cold under her soles as she walked on back. It sent a shiver up her spine and raised goosebumps along her arms. Against one wall hung a long trough with two faucets over it and a shelf of soap. Santana grabbed a bar and turned on the water. It was warm on her hands and the soap smelt of lemon-scented lye.

"Don't you waste that water," Mercedes warned.

Santana looked over her shoulder at the large open space. Beds went up and down the walls on both sides of the room, each separated by brown cloths that served as curtains. A door at the back lead into the emergency portion of a few individual rooms and sectioned off from that was the quarantine chamber, which was nothing but an empty room of only a cot and a jug of water for whatever unfortunate soul was sentenced to it.

Placing the soap back on the shelf, Santana rinsed the rest of it off her hands. She ignored the towels hanging off the side and instead shook her hands out to air dry. "There, happy?" she said.

Mercedes glared at her, pressing a finger over her lips for Santana to shut up. She turned back towards the shirtless man sitting on the edge of a bed with a stethoscope pressed to his chest. Santana made a show of tiptoeing across the floor.

"Everything sounds good, Mr. Cooper," Mercedes sat back, ripping out the earpieces and took off the stethoscope to drape around her neck. Mr. Cooper started to reapply his shirt. "Just take the rest of the dosage Dr. Lopez gave you and it should clear up soon."

"Thank you," Mr. Cooper's voice was raspy and dry. Mercedes handed him a paper cup of water for him to drink before he got up.

Santana sat on a vacant bed across the way, watching Mercedes follow the patient up to the door to wait. Once his boots were slipped on, he handed Mercedes a sack of jingling metal pieces then slid out the door.

"Coins?" asked Santana, surprised.

Mercedes took the sack, storing it in a toolbox under a table that served as the check in counter near the door. "You know no one's got real money except the Governor. Its just pieces of metal,"

"For fillings?" Mercedes nodded, eyeing her curiously. "Sam was just hammering some out. Said your dad requested them."

"Better than anything," Mercedes let out a long breath. She sat down on the cot opposite Santana, removing the apron strap from around her neck so it flapped down at her waist. "Uncle Gerald's not here. He stepped out to take a house call."

"I'm not here for my dad," Santana shrugged. She half smiled at the fact Mercedes still called her dad uncle even though he wasn't. Guess it stuck just like Santana poked Dr. Jones in his gut and called him Pops on most days. "Is Kurt around?"

Mercedes' face fell. Her eyes shifted towards the back door Santana had heard Tina call from and frowned. "Yeah he's here," she said sadly. "Tina has him in an ice bath because his leg was acting up and freezing it is what helps the most. But he's got a fever from whatever he caught out scavenging."

Santana fumed where she sat, teeth clenching. Mercedes looked her straight in the eye, shrugging in response to the questions Santana had going through her head. Kurt of all the Scavengers had reason to decline or quit. His leg gave him more issue than he could endure. He had moved down from a Scout already. The best job for him would probably be a Guard since they stayed in one place all day, but even all that standing was tough.

"Why doesn't he-"

"Tried," Mercedes cut her off. "He won't listen to anyone. Even Blaine's tried to talk him into quitting but you know Kurt. Never wants to feel useless,"

"Until he's dead and then he's really useless to everyone," it was the wrong thing to say, Santana saw by the way Mercedes face emulated the heartbreak that those words caused.

She blinked away from her mournful, brown eyes that had seen more death than most. The cot creak as Santana stood up. "I'm going back," she said into the stiff silence. "I promised Sam one of your mom's blackberry pies as a trade, so if you could run that by her. The berries are in my bag,"

Mercedes rolled her eyes, getting up herself to smooth out the sheets on the cot. "She'll get to it when she can," Santana winked in her direction and headed on back.

The screen door to the back section whined and slammed, making the screen shake. It was colder in the back half of the Clinic like someone turned the AC down to freezing though there was no such thing as decent AC anymore.

Pale yellow light filled up the hall making the walls look foreboding with their rigid wooden pattern and the squeaks the floorboards gave beneath a long rug. Santana peeked into each open doorframe. Most were empty save for one that's door was closed so you had to look through the glass. She couldn't tell who it was curled up on the bed with legs and an arm wrapped up in white cloth and face stitched up from eyebrow down to jaw.

Santana blinked away from the sight and hurried on down to the end of the hall into the water room. Stepping in, she was greeted with Tina's half smile and the overpowering smell of salt. In one of the four troughs that lined the middle of the room was Kurt, wading in icy water chest high.

His face was paler than pale and his normally sculpted hair was damp and flopped onto his forehead. The closer Santana got, she could see the blue veins on the back of his closed lids.

"Really puts porcelain to shame," Santana teased in attempt to lighten the mood.

She saw Kurt's chalky brow tighten then his chilled pink lips split in a, "Shut up, Santana,"

She pulled up a metal chair to sit beside Tina. In her lap she held a tray with a chunk of picked off bread on a plate and a tin cup of light brown liquid. Liquor she knew. It was the best part of being sick enough to go to the Clinic. The liquor numbed you and put you out for a good enough rest.

Santana leaned over to speak low into Tina's ear. "How longs he been in there?"

Raising her wrist, Tina checked her watch. "Fifteen minutes,"

"Fif-fifteen to go," Kurt shivered, voice cracking and hoarse.

Tina stretched out an arm to touch his forehead. "Fevers gone down so it may be sooner but, Kurt, you need to eat," she pleaded, sounding like it was the one thing she had been trying to get him to do for the past fifteen minutes. By the looks of the bread, he had only nibbled it.

Santana looked down at Kurt, eyes tracing what bits of skin that showed above water. The veins in his neck looked as vibrant as cerulean and his lips were a bright, rosy pink in contrast to his pallid skin. She looked away from the water at his chest that rippled with each inhale and exhale.

"Could I talk to Kurt alone for a sec?" she asked.

Tina eyed her, a question on her lips but Santana shook her head. She couldn't share it with Tina even if she wanted to. "I don't see why not,"

"Do not leave me alone with Satan," Kurt sneered.

"As if being in that tub isn't hell enough," Santana shot. She looked back at Tina. "Just a couple minutes,"

"Sure," getting up, Tina placed the tray on the chair she was sitting in and smoothed her hands on her apron. "Maybe he'll eat for you,"

"I'd rather drink arsenic," Kurt grumbled.

Tina sighed and padded out of the room leaving them in the quiet. Santana waited in the silence, listening for Tina's steps to fade out so they were as soft as Mercedes out in the house. When she turned back to Kurt, his eyes were wide-open and startlingly grayish blue. She forced herself not to show the spook it had given her.

"What?" he croaked again looking down at himself. Through the murky water, Santana could make out he was only in a pair of navy shorts. "My pride has already been diminished, what more can you take from me?"

"Don't be such a drama queen," she threw one leg over the other and sat back. "You asked for this by going out there on whatever crazy assignment."

Even with already tensed shoulders, Santana saw Kurt go even more rigid. His neck snapped away from her, nose up in the air. "It's my job,"

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to kill yourself,"

"How dare you-"

"Then what the hell, Hummel?" Santana gestured to the trough he was sitting in. Kurt flinched the smallest hair away from her. "Decline, quit, change positions, be General Schue's assistant. Or be an idiot and keep ending up here,"

Kurt's jaw flexed a few times and his eyes fluttered shut. Santana watched him settle further back against the metal of the trough, hand raising up out of the water to brush the hair off his forehead then splash back down. It didn't happen quickly enough for Santana to miss his hand, pinkie missing and flesh so white, the veins in his wrist and hand looked like a traffic highway.

Santana saw his throat bob in a swallow before he spoke in barely a whisper, "What do you want, Santana?"

She frowned for a moment, a guilty pang in her chest at being so harsh. But what did he expect? They might've not been close, but Santana had seen enough of Kurt's previous illness break him down and nearly kill him. She saw the sorrow it brought Mercedes and the frustration it brought Finn. They had lost enough people, no more needed to go. Not like that.

Taking in a breath, Santana scooted her chair closer, her voice soft. "The Governor gave me an assignment. Personally," she added before the 'so' could slip out of Kurt's mouth.

Eyes still closed, he drew in his eyebrows. "What is it?"

Santana hesitated, glancing back at the opened door then back to him. "Lucy Fabray," It was hardly a whisper but Kurt's eyes shot open and his mouth set fine and thin. "What do you know?"

"That she's dead,"

Santana leaned in closer, eyes narrowing. The salt in the tub was strong in her nostrils and the breath out of Kurt's own nose brushed on her lips as he breathed. "I think we both know that's not true,"

A frosted lip was caught between his teeth. He chewed on it, the hardness at the corner of his eyes slowly slacking. "I'm sworn under the Code of Scouts,"

"You haven't been a Scout in years,"

"Rules don't change,"

"Listen, Casper," Santana hissed, hands grabbing the edge of the trough. "The Governor is sending me out for four months to find her. All she gave me was an envelope of paper work and Rachel freaking Berry as my escort. Something's got to be up with that, and before I go out there risking my neck on a supposed dead girl, I'd like to know what the hell I'm getting into." Kurt swallowed so hard Santana heard it go down. She dropped her voice, sighing. "Just tell me what you can, alright? Just something, because this doesn't make sense to me,"

His gray eyes, pupils full blown from sickness, bounced from one of hers to the other then closed again. "Fine," he muttered, through clenched teeth. "But not here," he opened his eyes again, softer this time. "Meet me at my dad's shop. I'll tell you what I know then, but nothing else. Read those papers-"

"I'll bring them,"

"No," he snapped, head shaking. "No, don't. No one is allowed to see them. Only you," Santana gave a terse nod thinking back to Brittany. "I don't know a lot, but I might know enough to set you at ease. As for the Governor making Rachel go with you…" he trailed off.

Santana sat back in the chair. "She wants me dead,"

"Or she wants Rachel dead," said Kurt, voice far off. Santana didn't question it because the frightened look on his face told her not to.

"What time?"

"Tonight after midnight,"

"I'll be there at one,"

Kurt nodded, a breath streaming out of his lips. "Good luck,"

Santana smiled, letting out a choked laugh. "Yeah, right," she got up so the chair screeched on the floor. "I'll tell Tina to come help you out. And eat your food," she pointed back at the bread probably now stale sitting on the chair.

Kurt turned up his nose at it and closed his eyes. Santana walked out of the room just as she saw his head fall back to rest on his shoulders.

_Till Next Chapter_


	3. Part III

**Part III**

Santana's fingers tapped on her knees impatiently as she sat in one of the chairs outside the Governor's suite. A few chairs down sat Rachel, her legs crossed at the knee and her head angled down in her lap where her fingers twiddled with each other. There was a dull ticking in the air that came from the old grandfather clock in the lobby. It was the only thing to concentrate on but it was starting to tick Santana's nerves.

She looked up at the Governor's door. A nameplate was nailed at eye level with _Governor Corcoran _embossed in white letters. Beneath it was the diamond symbol with the S. Three slashes went through it, two diagonal and one piercing the S right down the middle. Santana thumbed at the tattoo on her wrist that peeked from under the cuff of her button down shirt.

The grind of wood on wood caught Santana's attention, jolting her eyes back up to the door. She stared at it, blinking but nothing happened. She let out a breath, turning to see Rachel peering at the door herself.

"How long does this normally take?" she asked.

Startled, Rachel blinked down to her then back to her lap. Santana saw that her fingers were red from wringing them so much. "Depends on how long the General lasts," Santana did a double take from the door back to Rachel. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth that made Santana squirm uneasily in her chair.

The door opened.

Her ponytail whipped as she looked up at Schuester. He was neatly dressed just like the Governor always was. His pressed pants were dark, forest green and his black boots were spit shined and glossy. His crisp white shirt was wrinkled at the ivory colored buttons and his green tie was off center the smallest bit.

"Ladies," he said, clearing his throat. Santana took a look at his tight curled hair that wasn't as nice and neat as usual. Turning to look at Rachel, she caught her eye and grimaced when the meaning of how long the General lasts sunk in.

Rachel stood up first. "General," she said.

Santana slowly got up, tipping her head towards him. "Schuester,"

His hand smoothed his tie putting it back into place. "The Governor is ready for you. When you're finished, come see me,"

"Yes sir," Rachel answered for them both. Schuester walked away down the hall and out of sight.

Santana fell in step behind Rachel into the Governor's room. It had a different feel to it than it had the week before when Santana had been invited to have a chat over some drinks. Shelby sat in her leather chair as normal, her red lipstick a fiery shade and her deep brown hair in waves that fell over her shoulders. There was no pleasant smile on her face, just the look of business.

"Door," she said. Rachel quickly doubled back to shut it and moved back to stand next to Santana a few paces behind the guest chair. Shelby turned her eyes toward Santana. "I'm glad you're taking this on,"

Santana swallowed against the lump in her throat. She still didn't know what she was getting into. Even after talking to Kurt. "It's my pleasure,"

Shelby grinned wickedly. "You're a good friend," the word slid all the wrong ways over Santana. She forced herself from not cringing as Shelby turned to Rachel. "You're to keep her safe, you hear me? This assignment will already be difficult considering what little information we have. I don't need you to foil it."

"Yes ma'am," Rachel responded without hesitation. Santana was looking at Rachel's profile, examineing the way she kept her eyes tight and her mouth taught to hold back expression when Shelby addressed her.

"Miss?" she said having missed what Shelby said to her. Santana didn't miss the flicker of Rachel's eyes at the address before she turned to face Shelby full on.

"I take it you opened the envelope," Santana nodded. "Then you're aware of the difficulties,"

"I promise you I will find-"

"Ah," Shelby shut her up with a finger in the air. Her dark eyes shifted from Rachel then back to Santana. "You don't need to say who it is. That's for you to know,"

"But Berry could help me if she knew-"

Shelby's expression darkened, her voice deepening a shade. "She doesn't need to know anything to do her job. Do you understand?"

It took everything in Santana not to glance at Rachel to see the fullness of the way her shoulders dropped. "Yes, Miss Corcoran,"

"Good," her voice lightened up, hands coming together in a single clap. "Schuester has everything prepared for you in the back lot. If you look at the cargo and think you might need something that is missing, we'll send one of the Guards to pack it on. You will also need these,"

Shelby pushed back in her chair to open the top drawer. She drew out two index size cards and slid them across the desk. Rachel stepped forward to retrieve them and passed one to Santana.

"These are your permits. Any town you go to should give you safe passage, boarding, and courtesy if you show them this," she explained.

Santana examined the glossy card. It reminded her of a driver license they use to have. A picture of her took of the left side of the card while information concerning her and where she lived was printed on the other side. At the bottom was the Governor's signature with the diamond and S symbol that belonged to Lima.

"Don't lose them," Shelby stressed. Santana took hers and tucked it into the cargo pocket on her pants leg. "Have you eaten already?"

"Yes ma'am," Rachel answered. "We both have,"

"Good. That keeps us on schedule." she smiled again but the action didn't reach her eyes. Shelby pushed up on the desk to stand. "Follow me,"

-/-/-/-

_Santana kept quiet as she walked through the Town. There were no curfews in Lima. Some places had them for safety reasons like if they were located near the mountains and the predators up there would come down in the night. Lima didn't have that problem, but Enforcers patrolled the streets at night in case anything criminal went on. And the way Santana was seemingly sneaking the streets was sure to draw attention._

_The shops were empty and dark. The wood groaned and whined in the wind that hadn't let up from the day. Dingy white light from street bulbs lit up the path, but it was on memory alone that Santana navigated her way to the Hummel's Tech Shop. It being the closets to the edge of the road that led up to the Governor's Precinct was why she tried to sneak her way. And being one of the Governor's workers, one funny move and an Enforcer who saw her would report to the Governor in the morning._

_The Tech Shop was just as dark as all the others. Santana climbed up on the porch of the main building. Off to the side was the garage where cars, motorbikes, and trucks were worked on. She peeked through the window seeing nothing but old busted electronics and wires._

_Jumping down, she followed along the wall coming up on the section attached to the shop that doubled as a home. The Hummel's had their own house. One at the edge of the Town, but Burt worked so hard he just crashed in the room in the back most evenings. _

_On her toes, Santana peered up through the high window. Through the crack in the curtain she could see Burt sprawled out on a cot on the floor. A dirty plate sat on the floor beside him along with an empty bottle._

"_You done snooping?" Kurt's hiss caused Santana to jump backwards. A hubcap slipped out of place and rattled on a rusty car door. Kurt rolled his eyes. "Graceful. Come on,"_

_Santana followed him around to the very back where a large board leaned up against the wall. Kurt moved it out of the way to show two small doors that led down into a cellar. His pale fingers wrapped around the rusted handles and tugged making the metal crackle as he pried one open. _

"_After you," he presented the dark tunnel to her._

_Santana hurried over, throwing on leg in. Her foot found purchase on a step. She lifted the rest of herself inside and started down. Kurt came in after her and shut the door behind him thrusting them into pitch-black darkness._

"_Uh, Kurt?"_

"_Stop when you get to the end of the stairs," he instructed._

_Santana tapped her toe on the last few steps until she felt flat ground and moved aside out of Kurt's way. She heard him pad across the dirty ground then tug on a yarn string so light burst out of a hanging bulb. "Welcome to my layer," he smirked._

_The place was filled with shelves and shelves of stuff. Nothing in particular, just stuff. Tools, trinkets, canned food, canteens, weapons, junk, more and more and more. It was just one large storage room of-_

"_You could trade this stuff," Santana breathed out in awe. Some of the things were valuable. Some of the things Santana hadn't seen since a couple years after the Quakes. _

"_Could," Kurt repeated, unfolding the legs of a card table to sit in the center of the room. He grabbed two fold out chairs as well. "This was all the stuff my dad and I could salvage and then a lot of what he traded off people for his services. It's too valuable to give away. And for what? Some potatoes? We earn enough to eat and a house,"_

"_Yeah," Santana ran her finger over the screen of an old PC monitor. She hadn't seen one in such great condition in years. "I guess," she turned around to observe the table. Kurt sat in one of the chairs clutching a bottle of beer. "Didn't know we were going all Don Corleone,"_

"_Who?" Kurt cocked an eyebrow, handing Santana a bottle as she sat opposite him._

"_No one," she popped off the top and drank the diluted alcohol. Putting it in bottles only gave the allusion of the good, old stuff. "So," her lips smacked. God, it had been forever since she had drunk. The Governor frowned upon it when they had big assignments to head. "What do you have for me?"_

_Kurt sat back in his hair, bottle held between his fingers as he drank some down. "First, you need to know that Lucy's not dead-"_

"_No shit," Kurt glared, Santana threw up her hands in defense. _

"_She isn't dead because she got away before she could be killed," the bottle rested on the tabletop, followed by Kurt's folded hands as he leaned forward so the light blazed off his blue eyes. "I had just become a Scout then so I wouldn't usually be put on those cases, but the Governor was furious that she had gotten away."_

"_What do you mean got away?"_

_Kurt chewed on his lip a moment, then let it go so blood rushed red to the spot. "You remember when the family came in, right? They were wanderers. The Governor caught them trying to steal from the Center. She struck a deal with the dad so he got himself a job at the bank and his wife was a maid to the Governor. Russell, the dad, he got convicted of stealing people's belongings from the bank and was sent to the prison."_

_Santana sat back with a shrug. "Everyone knows that,"_

"_But no one knows he didn't actually steal anything,"_

_Santana narrowed her eyes. The gulp of beer in her mouth tasted dull and old in her mouth. "Why would they falsely accuse him? He was a dick, but he kept that place secure,"_

"_Because," Kurt stressed, leaning in to emphasize his point. "The Governor wanted something,"_

_-/-/-/-_

Santana's eyes fell on her convertible sitting in the lot. She itched to get behind the wheel of it again and drive out of town. There was something freeing about being in that car, driving away against the wind. It might be the only time Santana ever actually felt free and unrestrained. There was something about Lima that made her feel claustrophobic. On top of the dust and the Governor and the constant worry of food and water, she couldn't seem to catch a breath. At least…not anymore.

Her eyes were on Rachel standing next to her, missing the small cargo truck that one of the Guards was pulling into the lot. She saw Schuester waving them on out her peripheral vision, but she was focused on Rachel and the way her lip was being mauled by her teeth. She was focused on the way her eyes never found place to rest or concentrate on, but dipped back and forth out of conscious and subconscious.

"Santana," Shelby called to her from her other side. Santana quickly looked up at her. A blank canvas greeted her overwhelming her with nervousness in the seconds that ticked by before Shelby continued to speak. "Have you ever driven a truck?"

"No," Annoyance flicked in those brown eyes. It was a stab just like the words the Governor had thrown at her years ago before kicking Santana out of her office and disbanding her from scavenging for months.

"You can pick it up along the way. Rachel," she talked over Santana's head, shutting her out. Santana heard Shelby tell Rachel she, "Will be driving at first," then tuned out.

The Guard, Sebastian, Santana realized from his ridiculous swagger, hopped out of the driver seat of the truck, meeting Schuester in the back to throw up the door. They both disappeared out of site into the cargo space, their voices quiet but audible like the buzz of a mosquito. Santana glanced over at her tiny convertible forlorn. The mere thought of being stuck in that tiny, two-passenger truck with Rachel was-

"Santana,"

"What?" she snapped. She saw Shelby's eyebrows raise at the outburst, but a pleasant smile played on her lips.

Rachel ignored Santana's bite as always. "We need to check the cargo,"

She sighed. "Right," They hurried down the slope, leaving Shelby behind at the backdoors.

Cargo filled up the bed on all sides. There was more stuff inside than Santana thought Lima had. Then again, that was probably because Shelby had it all.  
From what Santana could see, they had tons of water and loads of fuel. Boxes of canned food lined one wall and tools for hunting, gathering, and cooking sat atop that. Duffle bags of clothes were stacked neatly as well as a box labeled toiletries. Santana only hoped there was a good amount of toothpaste in there.

Other supplies poured out in bunches like stuff to start fires and sleeping bags. On the way she had been raised to ration, it seemed like stuff for almost a year not four months. But Santana was not beyond indulging if only a little bit.

"I've never seen those before," said Rachel. Santana followed her line of sight to a plastic tarp on the other side of the bed. Beneath it peeked the smooth metal and back wheel of a dirt bike.

"The Governor had Burt working on them privately," said Schuester, stepping down out of the truck. "First time anyone's seen them besides the Governor,"

Rachel used the handle on the side to help lift her up into the truck. She tugged at the tarp revealing one of the dirt bikes. They weren't beauties, but they were nicer than Santana had seen in years. The metal looked durable and the plastic was smooth with a faint gloss to it. She tried to remember the lessons Kurt had given her on how to ride one. She hoped she remembered enough to not kill herself driving through rocky terrain on the thing.

Sebastian rolled his eyes as she jumped down to join Santana. "Must be nice,"

Santana sneered, not even looking over at him. "Jealous much?" She watched Rachel run her finger along the seat of the bike with a faint grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Seeing it made Santana's own want to push through but Sebastian's big mouth kept it flat.

"Of how much ass you had to kiss? Please I-"

"You what, Smythe?" Shelby's cool drawl entered. Santana could feel her approaching before she saw her come to fill the gap between her and Schuester.

"Nothing, Governor Corcoran," Sebastian said through a nearly clenched jaw.

Shelby turned to him, her eyes looking from Santana who stared at the ground over to the Guard. Her head tilted. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am,"

"This is why you don't get nice things, Sebastian," Shelby taunted. "Now go on back inside and continue acting like you've got some sort of job here."

"Yes, Governor Corcoran," he said quietly. Gravel crunched as he turned around on his heels and walked away.

Santana had no doubt Shelby heard him mutter bitch under his breath as he went away. The tightened smile Shelby had when Santana chanced a look at her told her she definitely had and would have a little bit too much fun reminded Sebastian on how much of a bitch she really could be.

"Is this good for you?" Shelby asked.

Rachel jumped down out of the truck after covering the bike back up. "Everything looks good,"

Santana nodded agreeing. "I think we have everything,"

"Great," Shelby clapped her hands together. "Follow me,"

-/-/-/-

_Santana leaned all the way back in her metal chair, fingers drumming on the table as she thought. The Governor wanted something. The Governor always wanted something. It was why she sent Scavengers out to collect. She wanted something bigger and better than the devastating disaster that the world was. But this…the Governor wanted something personal. _

_She leaned back forward, putting the front legs back onto the ground. "Wanted what?"_

_Kurt shrugged, playing with the bottle top between his fingers. "Not my place to know," he said slowly, eyebrows knitting together. Santana noted how the brown of his hair looked black against his pallid skin. It made her wonder if Tina had dismissed him from the Clinic or if he had walked out. "The Fabray's were up at the Precinct a lot. I'd see them when I sorted case files. Fran Fabray would bring Lucy up and they'd go into the Governor's Office." _

_Santana nodded remembering. It was the year she had signed on with the Governor. She'd go up to the Precinct to meet with Schuester for training and wait on one of the wooden chairs in the hall. Lucy and her sister would come walking in some days when Santana waited but before she could see what they were there for, Schuester called her to attention and out to start on work._

_Brown hair and dull hazel eyes filled Santana's memory as she turned up to look at Kurt. "So what happened to her?"_

"_She ran away," he said._

_Santana slapped the hand he was twirling the bottle cap with down onto the table. "Cut the suspense, Hummel, and just tell me what the hell was going on."_

"_I don't know what was going on," he hissed, yanking his hand back. There was a red ring where the sharp edges of the top had stabbed into his palm. "The girl's mom died of acid poisoning from drinking bad water, and her sister took care of her up until she ran off. Her sister, Fran I think, disappeared after that."_

"_Just like that?"_

"_Just like that,"_

"_And you know nothing else,"_

_He shook his head before running a hand through his hair. "I was switched to Scavenger after that,"_

_Santana knew that. She blew out a puff of frustrated. "Why does no one else in this Town know a thing?"_

_Kurt rolled his eyes irritated. "If you haven't noticed, the only ones who know anything in this place are Governor Corcoran and Schuester. I think the only reason the General does is because he spends more time sneaking through the Governor's window at night than in his office."_

_Santana's eyes widened. Kurt shook his head, cutting her off from asking anything about it. It wasn't their concern. It was private knowledge, rumored about but never known for fact. Most only figured the two were close because they had known each other in the First Days. Santana allowed that little piece of information slip away. It wasn't polite to gossip about friends._

"_So what are you saying?" Her eyes watched Kurt get up from the table. He moved to one of the shelves where a CD rack lay on its side._

_Kurt ran a finger across the spines as he spoke. "You of all people should know that no one in this Town cares about others. Especially wanderers." He dropped his head, hand still pressed against the CDs. "People die everyday from something and no one blinks because that's how it is. No one paid attention to Lucy or the Fabray's because they weren't important."'_

"_Except to the Governor,"_

"_And she's keeping it quiet," he pointed out, turning to look over his shoulder at her. Santana saw his finger was on an original recording of _Evita_. "For all Lima knows, Russell was locked up and the family fled because they didn't want to have fingers pointed at them as the criminal family. Lucy was just unlucky and caught something and died."_

"_Still," her chair tipped back as she threw her legs up to rest on the table. Kurt eyed her in disapproval. "This doesn't tell me why she ran or where in the damn world she went." _

_Kurt sighed, pacing away from the CDs to the set of stairs that led down into the cellar. He looked up them, waiting a moment in silence as if he were expecting an Enforcer to come barging in with guns and take them away. _

_When no one came, he crossed back over to her, his hand deep in his pocket and face paler than it had already been. "I might know one place,"_

-/-/-/-

Santana paced across the floor of the Governor's Office. Rachel stood at the large glass window that took up the back wall, looking out at the Town. It was slightly unnerving all that the Governor could see from that point. It was like a bird's eye view of the Center and a lot of the homes. Santana could picture Shelby standing at the window in much the way Rachel was, glass of scotch in hand, and hawk eyes watching everyone and everything that went on.

There was no wonder as to how Shelby hadn't seen those times Santana found her way over to the Rachel's private pad she had separate from the room in the Precinct or had seen Rachel find her way to the Lopez's-

"It's weird," said Rachel, her head still angled at the window. "I use to always wish my fathers would have made it through the Quakes but when I look at the Town and the way we live sometimes…sometimes I'm happy they didn't, you know?" brown eyes, lit up a warm coffee hue turned over to Santana.

The gaze stopped her in place, forcing Santana to just see Rachel and the water that was gathering in her lids and the meaningless smile she was giving her. "No," she murmured, wetting her dry lips with a tongue. "I don't know,"

Thick lashes fluttered shut. "No," Rachel turned back to the window, hand pressing up against the glass. "No, of course not,"

"Hey, I didn't-" She jumped, startled by a knock on the door. Rachel looked over her shoulder again but whatever had been there a moment ago had evaporated and sunk back into a place deep in Rachel Santana didn't know she'd ever see again.

Another knock at the door eased Santana down into the chair in front of the desk and Rachel over to stand beside the desk. "Come in," Rachel called out.

The door creaked open to a crack. Through the small gap stepped in Dr. Lopez, brown paper sack in one hand and still in his Clinic apron. His dark eyes fell on Rachel for a moment before moving down to Santana.

"Dad?" She pushed out of the chair as Dr. Lopez peeled off his wireframe glasses to hang on the front of his shirt. "What're you doing here?"

"Thought you could use these on your assignment," he said, holding up the sack. Reaching in, he pulled out a small glass bottle of little periwinkle tablets used to purify water.

Santana took them, keeping it to herself that they had enough water to last them nearly a lifetime. She saw Rachel walk back towards the window out the corner of her eye. "How'd you know I was leaving?"

"Kurt mentioned it after I asked him why he snuck out the Clinic the other night," She knew it. "Said you needed a little pep talk before going,"

"Hardly," Santana rolled her eyes, stuffing the bottle back into the sack and folded the top down.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because," she shifted her gaze toward Rachel who was trying her best to look as small and unnoticeable on the other side of the room. She turned back up to her dad, seeing the tightness at the corner of his eyes. "The Governor asked me personally. I couldn't turn her down. _Papi-_"

"How long for?"

She hesitated, looking away from him as she answered, "Four months," his thick eyebrows lifted nearly all the way into his salt and pepper hairline. "Or longer. It's harder savaging for people than parts."

"Sana,"

"I couldn't say no even if I wanted. I'll be fine. Look at me," she raised the sack of tablets giving it a little shake. When she had become a Scavenger, her dad had told her as long as she had fresh water and a place to sleep, she could survive. "It'll be okay,"

His large hands, still cold from working in the Clinic covered hers and the sack. "Don't lie to me," He said, pulling Santana into his chest like she were still a little girl and frightened by the shaking ground. A heavy hand rubbed along her back and his voice vibrated against her face as he spoke across to Rachel, "Rachel, you keep her safe,"

"Yes sir," Rachel replied in a tiny voice.

Dr. Lopez pulled out of the hug, eyeing them both. "You keep each other alive,"

"I've kept you alive all this time haven't I?" Santana teased. He touched a hand to her cheek and Santana was pulled back years and years ago when not only his hand, but her mother's lips would touch her on the cheek before tucking her into bed.

"Touching," Shelby said as the doors of her office opened. It shut with a harsh thud behind her. Heels banged uncomfortably loud across the room. "It's good to see you Dr. Lopez. How are things at the Clinic?"

"As good as ever, Governor Corcoran," he replied, back straightening. His heavy hand weighed down on Santana's shoulder. "I hope you know what you're doing sending our daughters out there,"

Tension filled the room instantly. Santana switched her eyes from her father's intimidating expression to Shelby's look of pure offense and disgust. Rachel, on the other hand, dropped her head to her boots and didn't dare look at any of them.

Shelby cleared her throat, her own back straightening from bending down to place a folder onto her desk. "I always do," she said each word with a sting behind it that made Santana flinch. "Thank you, Dr. Lopez. You may go now. I have an assignment to get underway."

He wavered a moment, fingers tightening on Santana's shoulder. She brought her hand up to squeeze his hand to ease his frustration. There was a time to challenge the Governor for the things she had said and done, but now was not the time.

Not when she was about to be deployed on a mission that still made very little sense to Santana. It would probably more if she actually took the time to read through each document in the envelope, but right now she was running on word of mouth and a few flimsy papers.

"I won't hold you up any longer," Dr. Lopez dropped his hand away. He took Santana's chin between his fingers for a moment before letting go. "Come back, Sana," he whispered. Looking at Rachel, he nodded to her, face stern and eyes speaking things Santana didn't know. Rachel just nodded back and watched his back slip out the door.

"Rachel, would you see to it that Dr. Lopez makes it on his way?" Shelby instructed, picking up the folder she had just placed down. Without a word, Rachel left the room making sure it was shut behind her. Not a second passed before Shelby started to speak again, "in this folder is information on a Tracker from the town in Shelby. He has aided us in the past, and may be of some use to you."

Santana took the folder and tucked it under her arm. "We'll find him first."

"Only if necessary," Shelby made her way to Santana's side of the desk. "Santana, there are few things I have asked of you to do on this scavenge, and I'm sure you know them but I need to make them clear." She stopped to stand in front of her, her dark eyes so much like Rachel's and then very much not bore down at her. "I need you to find the girl. I need you to bring her back, alive if you will, and I need you to continue to pretend like Rachel was never anything to you but the useless Guard that she is."

Santana blanched, her professionalism faltering. "Ma'am?"

The walls seemed to cave in with the slightest of steps Shelby took towards her. It made an uncomfortable heat rise up between them, making each breath Shelby let out burn her face. "I see the way you still look at her, and if I remember-"

"I didn't forget," she interrupted and saw the way it took Shelby aback.

She quickly regained composure, voice dropping another decibel. "Are you sure?"

Santana let her own volume lower and her eyes never shift away. "I thought you had faith in me,"

"Of course I do, you're right," Shelby grinned something evil that made everything inside of Santana hurt. It made her hurt and it made her heart shatter all over again. "Then there's nothing to worry about."

"Were you worried?" she asked trying to keep her voice even, eyebrow cocking.

"Only if you give me reason to," Santana only blinked. There were many reasons. One of which was the girl standing on the other side of the door, which Santana knew was just a lure. There had to be a reason Rachel was paired with her and it ticked Santana off.

Shelby took her silence as an answer. She walked away from her, rounding the desk to pick up a set of jingling keys and grinning as if she hadn't just threatened the unknown to her. "I suggest we get you on the road then,"

Santana echoed the grin, sidestepping out of the way. "After you, Miss Corcoran,"

-/-/-/-

"_Here," Kurt drew a wrinkled folded piece of paper and slid it across the table. Santana stared down at it remembering the note Finn had asked her to give to Rachel and how she still didn't know what it had said. "The envelope the Governor gave you probably has one in it, but this is the one I got from Finn."_

_Speaking of the devil. "Hudson?" _

"_He works the borders and has to search everything. The Governor had some of the Scouts patrol with them and we searched the coming in trucks. He found this paper and kept it because the Governor had them listen out for Lucy."_

"_Do the Enforcers know the truth?"_

_Kurt shook his head the continued on. "He gave this to me to give to the Governor but I kept this because things weren't lining up about the entire case."_

_Santana started to unfold the paper as she nodded. "Because everyone in Lima was saying Lucy died but this says she escaped the Fostoria Jail,"_

"_With her sister," Kurt pointed at the plural in _Fabray Girl's_ that was highlighted in the document. "The trail ends there," _

_Santana scanned the document with her own eyes. It was hardly much, only a wired report of the people who had gotten out of the Fostoria Jail in that month. It was one of the most poorly guarded places that often called the nearest towns to aid them in locating runaways to bring back. Some had been caught in Lima but known of them captured back had been Lucy of Fran. _

_Folding the paper, Santana tucked it into the pocket of her shorts. "Thank you, Kurt," _

_He nodded. "Just don't go out there acting stupid. If the Governor wanted something then, she still wants it now. Otherwise you wouldn't be put on this with Rachel."_

"_What's Rachel have to do with anything but to give the Governor an excuse to kill me when I return empty handed?"_

"_You don't find her," he folded Santana's then his own to replace back against the wall. "You might as well not return,"_

"_I couldn't do that…"_

"_You could," he looked her straight in the eye, pausing in folding down the leg of the card table. "With Rachel, you could,"_

_Santana shook her head. "That's over," she said before downing the rest of her drink. "And I'm not an idiot."_

"_The Governor knows that, which only makes this worse,"_

"_Right," she dismissed. She was done talking about Rachel and the stakes and the risk and all this shit that would only be keeping her up in the night worrying over it. Santana sighed. "But maybe a suicide mission is what I need to get out of this shit hole."_

_Kurt laughed humorously as he held the string of the light in his fingers. "Don't we all?"_

_With a tug, the room went dark._

-/-/-/-

The truck roared and rumbled as Rachel turned the key. The vibration of the engine shook Santana's bones. She surveyed the inside of the vehicle. There were all sorts of knobs and levers and buttons she wasn't familiar with.

From the rearview mirror hung an old, sun faded, pine leaf air freshener that now smelled like cardboard. In the glove compartment Santana found a little baggie of Kleenex tissues yellowed with age and a worn manual. She pulled it out to read once they got out of the Town.

In the driver seat, Rachel examined each thing with her eyes. Santana eyed her little body that looked so tiny in comparison to the massive beast she was meant to handle. "You know how to drive this thing?"

"I was trained in all vehicles," said Rachel, pulling down the visor to observe the mirror. A crack ran through the middle of it. "However, I haven't driven this exact truck in a while, but I have confidence I remember how everything works."

"You damn well better," Santana mumbled.

"You've got the manual right there," Rachel ticked. "Why don't you start reading so it gives us a better chance at survival?"

"Chill out, Berry," Santana grumbled, thumbed through the pages so dust flew out. "I was just saying…"

"Head out when you're ready," Shelby shouted. Santana looked out the window to see her and Schuester standing a ways back. "And good luck,"

"Please buckle your seatbelt," Rachel requested. The truck gave a jerk as she shifted gears and Santana hurried to get her belt done.

Out the front window, she could see the trucks of Foragers pull up from one of the ports. Santana squinted against the sun, trying to read the numbers painted on the side of them. The number seven truck bumped along the dirty road, and Santana watched it knowing Brittany and Blaine were inside bringing in their new haul. She wished she had a few more minutes to hug Brittany goodbye and whisper to her to save her some berries for when she came back.

"Ready?" asked Rachel over the roar of the egine.

"Sure," Santana shrugged, leaning back into the lumpy cushion of the chair.

The truck gave another hard jerk as Rachel pressed the gas and rolled them out of the lot. Santana forced on a smile and returned Shelby's wave then blew a kiss to her dad who was standing at the end of the Precinct lot waving her off.

Turning out, Rachel steered them into the dirt, taking to one of the port trails that was all dust and dirt and gravel so sandy clouds fogged Santana's view of the Town in her mirror. Foraging trucks passed them on the side, kicking up more debris so that they had to crank the windows up and shut to keep from choking on it.

A silence outside of the bumpy terrain and the constant rattle of the back latch spread in the truck. Santana could feel it thick and tense and creep up making her throat tight and her body kink into knots. She could see the straightness in Rachel's back and the way her hands clutched the steering wheel and her eyes, shrouded in a pair of brown tinted sunglasses, stay fixed on the road ahead of them.

"Santana," said Rachel, her voice cracking. Her tongue darted out, wetting her chapped lips and swallowed. "It's just you and me,"

"Uh huh," Santana threw her legs up on the dash, finger flicking her shades down over her eyes and arms pulled tight around her chest. "Just you and me,"

_Till Next Chapter_


	4. Part IV

_AN: Thank you all for your enthusiasm for this fic. Reading your reviews makes me wanna write faster. Hope you stick around because answers are very close. Enjoy._

**Part IV**

Santana awoke to darkness. She blinked frantically, but her eyes only saw black. Reaching up, she tugged off her sunglasses, eyes wide enough to catch the dull navy haze of the sky through the windshield of the truck. A fine layer of gray clouds sat unmoving against the dark sky with the faintest hint of stars sparkling behind them.

Her muscles protested as she shifted in her seat to sit up straight. There was a dull ache on the side of her head from where it had leaned against the window, bouncing on the glass along the bumpy trail. The vibration beneath her that had lulled her to sleep was gone signaling they had stopped. She looked over into the driver seat finding it empty except a pair of sunglasses.

Santana pushed the open manual off her lap so it fell onto the little part of seat between the driver and passenger sides, rubbing her eyes free of sleep. A couple more blinks had her eyes adjusted enough to see the black outline of a figure standing a couple ways outside the truck up ahead. Rachel.

She stood still, her back to the truck and head angled off to the left. Her brown hair that had been done up in a tight ponytail when they left Lima was down and rippling the smallest bit with a gentle wind.

Santana turned the direction Rachel was looking. The ruins of an old neighborhood were spread out for miles with houses caved in and houses ripped apart like the aftermath of twenty twisters. A wide street that the truck was parked on split the left side of the neighborhood from the right, which was far worse. A gaping crack in the earth had swallowed houses whole and reeled in a few around it as if the ground were sucking them down into oblivion.

Santana stared at it, wondering how deep the split in the earth went. Ohio hadn't been ready for earthquakes. They hadn't known how to handle or to prepare for them. They were blindsided. No one stood a chance and by the way this quake had shattered an entire neighborhood, there had been ultimately no hope.

She had to push her shoulder against the door before it popped open and she climbed out. Rachel jumped slightly at the sound but didn't turn around. The pad of her boots on the pavement was like the shot of a snare in a library. Everything was so still and so quiet. The whistle of wind every now and again was the only other thing that could be heard aside from their own breathing and beating hearts.

The ground beneath Santana's feet had spider web cracks that led all up and down the street. She took each step gently as if one wrong move would trigger a quake. But the quakes had ended years ago and hadn't returned since. At least not here, maybe in other parts of the world but they had no news to tell them that anymore.

"I went back once," Rachel's voice was as soft as the blow of the wind. "The house me and my dads lived in was in a neighborhood like this. I always remembered it was my street because it was the one right next to the cul-de-sac. We had a swing in the front yard hanging from a tree. Daddy would have to come out and pull me off - I loved it to much." she looked down at the ground, cheeks tinting red. When she spoke again, Santana had to struggle to hear her. "When I went back, everything was gone. The quakes shifted the ground so much it swallowed almost the entire block. Only the tree's roots stuck out, dry and dead."

Brown eyes turned back up and heavy lids fluttered shut to the moon. Santana looked over Rachel, letting the words of her memory slip inside and be stored with all the other wondrous stories Rachel once shared with her in the dead of night back in the Town when they were sixteen and Santana spent a lot of her time at the Precinct in training. Rachel would venture down to the grounds, hand her a canteen of water, watch and then she'd talk and it was always so…

A single tear seeped from Rachel's closed lid. Santana turned away, remembering how everything Rachel use to say was of mournful longing but it had a sense of joy to it. Now, when she said anything it was weighed by a deep sorrow that was only enhanced by the tired lines beneath her eyes and her cheeks no longer full and round but sharp and sunken. So many years had passed. So many wasted years.

"No," said Rachel, drawing Santana's attention back up to her. "I'm not crying," she lifted a hand to brush the tear away. Santana shifted her weight, hands buried deep in the pockets of her jeans.

"Where are we?" she asked, cringing at the sound of her voice. It was too loud and too strong even though she had spoken just above a whisper.

"Nowhere, really," Rachel shrugged. She shifted her eyes off the distance place they were fixed on to gaze down the long street before them. "We hadn't talked about where we were going so I just drove us away from Town." She looked over at Santana, fingers wringing one wrist in nervous habit. "If- if that's okay."

Santana nodded slowly, schooling her voice into the softness that Rachel had spoken with. "It's fine,"

"Do you know where you want to go?"

"Fostoria," she walked forward a few paces, looking at the houses on their left and right. The area looked familiar but Santana was sure she had never stopped at it. Possibly driven through on her way back to Town but never looked around.

Rachel's lashes fluttered a few times as if she were surprised to hear it. "Is that what you got from the documents in the envelope?"

"I haven't- yeah," she shrugged because those were still in need of a thorough reading. "Yeah, I guess,"

"Okay," Rachel tuned away from her. "We can head there in the morning unless you would like to go now. We shouldn't be too far away from there, though I know I drove us quite a ways south-"

"Morning is fine,"

"Okay," the strain in Rachel's voice was back no longer holding that delicacy she had spoken in before. It was the way they had gotten use to talking to one another. All hard and cold and uncomfortable. Anything other than that only made Santana think about the Governor's warning. "Do you want to set up a tent?"

"No," she said turning to walk back. "I want to check those houses first," she hurried back to the truck to get her satchel. She found her gun inside still on her belt and hooked it around her waist.

"Should I-"

"Stay here," Santana dropped her bag down, digging through it. Her fingers bumped against the thick metal of her flashlight. She tested it to no avail and dug around for an extra set of batteries. "I won't be long. Stay, uh," she twisted the top back on, hitting the button so bright, white light streamed from the bulb. It lit up Rachel's squinting face. "Stay in the truck or something,"

Rachel folded her arms over her chest, pouting like a ten year old not getting her way. "I'm not afraid of the dark,"

Santana's eyebrow cocked. "You ever been out here in the dark?"

"No," she faltered, "but-"

"Stay in the truck," Santana stood, slinging her bag onto her shoulders. It was lighter without having to pack all the food and supplies on her back. "Lock the doors,"

"What about you? I'm supposed to be guarding you, remember?"

"For once in your life, Berry, do what you're told," Santana let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. She just needed to get away. Away from Rachel, away from her sad little pout and away from the claustrophobia that always sat in when she was near her. "I don't need you."

"Okay," Rachel's shoulders fell. Her fingers came up to play with the end of a strand of hair, eyes on the ground. "I'll stay in the truck. But if I hear one gun shot, I'm coming to find you."

"Get inside," Santana turned her back.

She scanned the area before her, looking for a good place to start in. A clear patch presented itself to her and she went bounding off, darting out of the way of a jagged pane of glass that protruded up from where it was lodged into the dirt. Her fingerless gloves kept the splinters in a broken doorframe from shooting into her palm as she used it to rocket over what looked like the remains of a counter and crashed down onto shingles on the balls of her feet.

Her flashlight flew out of her hand on the landing, spinning to light up more of what surrounded her in short flashes. There was hardly anything salvageable. Most of the good stuff had already been taking like the granite from counter tops and metal doorknobs. Wood was scattered everywhere, but it was broken, beat, and too water damaged to be used for anything.

Santana was sure someone had already scavenged the places outer half of the neighborhood, but she crawled through a tight space between a shattered porcelain bathtub and a busted in water heater. The flashlight banged each time she sat her left hand down in the crawl, giving her a jagged view of what was before her. The string of her boot caught the corner of a piece of metal sticking out behind her and she jerked.

A slab of wood fell onto her back, sending Santana flat on her stomach. She threw her arms up, protecting the back of her neck as debris showered down over her and pinched her eyes shut. Dust blew up and the flakes of shriveled up insulation tickled her nose. She coughed, blowing hard to get the junk out of her nose, wiggling her way out of the parts that weighed down on her back.

Breaking through, Santana turned over onto her back, sitting up to unhook her lace off the hook of metal that belonged to a rusted, bent curtain rod. Pushing up, she stood, dusting herself off and held up her flashlight.

She turned around, surveying the clearing that surrounded her on all sides. It was as if someone had built a small pocket to live in out of the rubble. Chunks of brick held up pieces of wood put together with twine to make up the rest of the walls of what Santana would guessed was an old storm cellar.

Clutter on the ground around her gave away that there use to be an overhang that blocked out the beat of the sun but had fallen through at some point. A stack of weathered newspapers sat in one corner along with a variety of busted up pots and pans.

Santana walked over to them, kneeling to examine each one. The metal was tarnished and black on the bottom from where a fire had been placed beneath it. By the state of it all, whoever had set the area up hadn't been back for a long time. Either they found a new place to camp out at, or they died from acid rainfall when the roof caved in.

A flimsy piece of cardboard leaned against an opening that Santana squeezed in and through, following the winding path on hands and knees that led her to the outside. Standing up and looking back, she wouldn't have guessed there was a place like that inside of the destruction. On the outside, it didn't even look like one could get as far as a few feet inside. Whoever built the place had been smart.

Placing her flashlight at the entrance point, Santana jogged around, following the dim blaze of parking lights from the truck. As she approached, she could see Rachel sitting inside, truck light on and manual open against the steering wheel as she read. Her head popped up a moment to look through the windshield then turned out the driver side window just as Santana was jogging up.

Putting down the book, Rachel opened the door. "You look terrible," she said, worried.

Santana just dusted the chalky white debris off her clothes. "There's a place to set up camp," she said, smacking Rachel's hand away that was on its way to brush at her hair. "Just grab the sleeping bags and some water and we'll be fine."

Rachel doubled back to the truck, grabbing the keys off the seat and hurried to the back to throw up the cargo door. "Food?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "Only what we can make without fire. Don't want to waste the flint."

"I think we have lighters and…" Rachel trailed off, catching Santana's tired look. "No fire. It's hot enough out here as it is. Here," She handed over one of the sleeping bags to Santana before climbing inside the truck.

A box rattled as she pulled it out and slid it toward the end of the bed. Santana grabbed a couple packages of tuna and a sleeve of crackers from a box. Rachel took up a can of pineapples and a couple granola bars to stuff in a backpack she found in the truck then grabbed a galloon of water.

Santana winced when the truck door slammed shut. They stood still, looking at one another as the sound echoed through the night. She held her breath, listening for the smallest crack, the tiniest rustle, or the faintest shift that would give away that someone or something was out there and had been disturbed by their racket.

Rachel blinked over at her and Santana gave a jerk of her head for her to follow. Her flashlight beam grew brighter the closer they drew to the entrance. Santana picked it up then fell to hands and knees to crawl through, pushing her sleeping bag out in front of her.

"Oh," Rachel breathed behind her when they broke into the clearing. "I hope it doesn't rain,"

Santana looked up. There was still a part of the structure hanging over to give them a little shade. She kicked the debris from the roof out of the way and dropped her sleeping bag down, letting it roll out. Rachel followed suit, dusting a space clear on the opposite side of the clearing.

"Over here," Santana motioned to the area cleared next to her own sleeping bag. Rachel didn't move. "We have to be close."

Clutching her sleeping bag to her chest, Rachel walked over to the spot and unrolled her sleeping bag so it stretched away from Santana. "Is this okay?"

"You just need to be close enough for the rope to reach," Santana turned around to her, clutching a thick coil of rope in her hands. She saw Rachel's eyes widen at it. Santana rolled her own and sat down on her stretched out sleeping bag. "Tie one end to your ankle and I'll do the same," she explained tossing one end to Rachel. "It's in case someone comes and attacks one of us. The other will be woken up."

"What if-" Rachel grabbed onto the rope, holding onto it as if it were a snake and would lash out at her. "What if I have to use the restroom?"

Santana jerked the rope twice. "Do that. Then three times when you get back so I know you're here." She pulled the knot on her ankle taut then sat back to see the uncomfortable uncertainty written on Rachel's face. She smirked. "It's not going to strangle you in your sleep,"

"I've just…never heard of this," she began, hesitant.

"Have you ever been out like this before?"

Shaking her head, Rachel twirled the rope a couple times around her ankle. "Traveling with Shelby comes with all the luxuries," she looped the end through a hoop then made a knot. "We travel by RV and a few Guard cars follow behind. We take shifts in the night and rotate out who drives what in the morning"

"You've never been on a solo assignment?"

"I'm a Guard, so there are no assignments other than to guard Shelby or the Town. The Governor likes to keep me close. I have only gone out with her or just a mile outside of Town when I would leave myself just to get away. Any other times…" she tugged the knot a few times checking its tightness. Her head stayed angled down, lip pulling between her teeth. "Any other time I was- I was with you,"

"So basically," Santana blew air past her lips, "you're useless," She laid back on her sleeping bag, arms folded behind her head.

Rachel's brow creased. "I am skilled in various forms of hand to hand combat and a fairly decent shot with a gun." Santana felt the rope tug as Rachel stretched back to grab the can of pineapple. She peeled back the seal by the pull top. "The extent of my training ends with rendering a man unconscious with a thumb to a pressure point. Scavenging was not in my handbook."

Santana coughed out a laugh. "You wouldn't last two days,"

"You underestimate me," Rachel accused. Santana turned her head so she could see Rachel with her back against the wall and piece of pineapple between her fingers. "I'm not eighteen anymore. The likelihood even you could pin me down anymore is fairly slim."

"Rachel," Santana sighed, her eyes closing for a moment in attempt to shut out the memories and images that rushed to her mind at that one simple thing.

Rachel only shrugged, chewing on the dripping piece of pineapple. "It's all in the training. I was always the one remind you of that if I do remember."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Rachel hummed. She tilted the can to her lips, drinking the juice. A hand came up to quickly wipe away a drop that slid down her chin.

"That. Saying things like that."

Rachel sucked on a sticky finger. "Our past is not a secret,"

"It's the past and it's over," said Santana. "Lets keep it that way,"

Rachel sat the can aside. She stared at Santana over the bend of her knees, head tilted and eyes narrowed slightly. "You may want to act like it never-"

"Look, I get it," Santana sat back up cutting Rachel off. "We're out here alone together but that doesn't mean shit. We have a job to do and that job doesn't involve having heart to hearts about stuff you obviously haven't learned to let go of. But I have let it go and I'd like to not be reminded of it, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel spouted off without hesitation then turned away from her.

Santana watched as Rachel laid down on her sleeping bag, legs pulling up to her chest so the rope gave a slight tug. She cursed herself a million times on the inside at seeing Rachel shut down. It hurt more than any retort Rachel could throw at her. Her lack of words and her eyes that went cold and withdrawn always made Santana's chest ache. But what else could she do?

Closing her eyes, Santana laid down on her side. The wind blew softly in the silence but the racing of her aching heart was so loud in her ears she almost missed it when Rachel murmured,

"You know," she started, her voice harsh in its softness. "If you didn't want to remember then why wear something that won't let you forget?"

Santana stiffened, her eyes shifting down to see the feather on the end of her chain resting against the cushion of her sleeping bag. The feather necklace that Rachel had given her one day before she was sent out for an assignment. The feather necklace Rachel had put around Santana's neck, kissed her on the forehead and whispered,

"Fly home to me," and waved her off.

Sighing, Santana stuffed it into the collar of her shirt and closed her eyes.

-/-/-/-

Sun broke through Santana's lids white and blinding as she opened them. Turning over, she reached her arm out, blindly searching for the jug of water. Sweat rolled off her neck and across her shoulders as her fingers curved around the handle. She popped off the top and drank most of what was left, panting once the last gulp slid down her throat.

She squinted, looking across the clearing. The spot Rachel had been sleeping at was empty and the rope around Santana's ankle was loose and flimsy. She sat up quickly, causing little black dots to fill her vision. Her ears strained for any sound that indicated Rachel was okay and still close by. At the faint hum that soared over the mound of rubble, Santana allowed herself to relax, blinking to erase the black fuzz.

Sighing, Santana hurried to slip her foot out of the rope. She hadn't heard or felt a thing in the night. Rachel must've eased it off before leaving her alone and without alarming her.

Rolling to hands and knees, Santana pushed herself up. The heat of the morning had already set into her bones making her sluggish. It was one thing she hated about waking up under the heat. It made her groggy and disoriented for much too long to be safe should there be a threat nearby.

Slipping her tank top and pants back on she had tugged off sometime in the hot night, Santana rolled up the sleeping bag and tucked the food into her satchel before stepping into her boots and crawling through the entrance hole. Rachel's hum became a soft, lyrical murmur of words under her breath. Santana rounded the fallen houses, seeing Rachel sitting on the bed of the trunk, door thrown up and bag of dried fruit in her hands. She smacked on a piece between lyrics, humming the tune as she chewed with legs swinging back and forth.

Santana's brow furrowed as she tried to catalogue the song then stiffened when she realized what it was. God, she hadn't heard that song in a long time and it never came out of speakers or a radio. It was always out of Rachel's mouth, and with a persistent poking finger, Santana's as well.

"Hey!" Santana called angrily, shutting her right up. Rachel flinched, almost dropping the piece of orange out of her fingers. Santana held up the rope, giving it a shake. "What the hell?"

Rachel swallowed quickly, her voice still in a slight singsong though it had dropped to hesitant. "I didn't want to wake you,"

"What did I tell you?"

"But you were sleeping so…" her voice putter out as Santana came up on her side, throwing the rope into the back of the truck. "I didn't hear anyone so I figured we were okay."

"Honestly, are you that stupid?" she turned up to look into Rachel's eyes. They were still soft and warm as they had been while singing that song. That stupid song. Santana sneered. "You never leave without notifying the other person. You jerk the rope no matter what. I could be in a coma and you still jerk the rope. I might be sick and dying, you still jerk the damn rope. Got it?"

"Got it," Rachel said, her voice harsher than it had been. "I'll jerk the rope next time,"

"She can be taught," Santana shooed Rachel off the bed. Stretching to her toes, she grabbed the rope hanging from the handle to tug down the door then wrapped it around the latch so it didn't dangle in the road. She didn't stick around as Rachel locked it.

She slipped into the passenger seat, throwing her legs up on the dash as Rachel opened her door and climbed in. Santana kept her head angled out the window, eyes skimming the gaping hole in the earth. A loan shoe she hadn't seen in the darkness was sitting on the ledge, laces undone and just about tipping into the abyss. Who ever it belonged to had found their grave in the depths of the ground.

"I'm sorry," said Rachel, her door slamming shut. Santana's jaw tightened. "I didn't mean to make you worry,"

"Just drive," she stuffed her satchel on the floor between her legs, reaching in to find her goggles.

"You looked so out of it and I didn't-"

"Berry!" Santana wheeled on her. The click of Rachel's teeth was audible when she shut her jaws. "Drive," she pressed, forcing herself not to apologize for her outburst and to take Rachel's face in her hands like she would've done years ago. But she didn't budge not even at the quick flutter of Rachel's lashes, dusty with sand did she move.

Santana watched Rachel swallow every word she had wanted to say. She bit the inside of her lips to keep them from sputtering out and she looked away, silently grabbing the keys and jamming them into the ignition. The truck grumbled to life, shaking Santana's sunglasses so they slipped down on her forehead. She quickly pulled them all the way down then tugged her goggles on to rest around her neck.

The gear shifted with a cranking nose that matched the way Santana felt when she turned away from Rachel. They hadn't been civil to one another since that time. They hadn't tolerated each other in the same room since that time and Santana had gotten damn good at pretending.

She got so good at pretending that she didn't even feel like she was pretending as much as just being. She was dead to Rachel. Or maybe that's what she thought before Finn handed her that note and before Shelby had Rachel's name attached to the assignment. Maybe before Rachel showed up on her porch that night for the first time in years and before that song started to loop in her mind all over again.

-/-/-/-

The truck bumped and shook and jingled as they drove. Santana didn't know how far south Rachel had taken them, but if they had ended up in the neighborhood by night, she figured it would take another day before they reached Fostoria. And ten hours seemed like a long time when they had only been driving in a steaming hot, tense silent couple hours.

Wind bellowed through both open windows. Santana's head bounced on the heel of her hand that was propped up on the armrest. Her eyes gazed out through the dark film of her shades and goggles at the terrain but her mind was on the prison and what they might find there. A dull ache in her legs from sitting down for so long reminded her of Kurt and the paper he had given her.

Cranking up her window, Santana striped off her goggles and reached into her bag for the envelope. Drawing out a paper, she skimmed over the lines of a document much like the one Kurt had let her keep. Reaching down, she picked up her canteen that was between her thighs and sipped the lukewarm water. She sat it down to grab a stack, turning the paper over.

Rachel cleared her throat softly. "Anything?" her voice was dull and crackly like her sundried lips. Santana held out her canteen towards her. Rachel regarded hesitantly it for a moment before taking it and drinking.

"Not really," Santana got a stack, sifting through what looked to be letters.

Each one had folded creases in the paper with typed words. The initials either _G.S.C. _or _C.T. _were signed at the bottom of each one. Santana narrowed her eyes, reading one letter to the other.

_What is the state of the girls? -G.S.C._

_Contained. Older one very ill. -C.T._

_Can it be treated? –G.S.C._

_The medics say she doesn't have long to live. –C.T._

_Very well. As long as the other does. Keep me informed –G.S.C._

"Those are telegrams," said Rachel. She jutted her chin towards the papers Santana held in her hand. "They're different then how they were in the old First Days, but it's what officials use now to transfer information from one place to the next."

"Like a Letter Runners?"

Rachel shook her head, her eyes back on the road as they hit a bump. "Civilians use Letter Runners and often times those notes get screened." They were on a long stretch of nothing but dirt. The asphalt they drove on was busted up and beat, but cleared of debris as if someone had already come through and cleared the path. "The ones who deliver these are like Guards or Scouts or whatever type of officials that town has. Its private business so no screening."

"Did you ever deliver any?"

An empty smile spread on Rachel's lips. "Like I've said before, Shelby likes to keep me close. I only handed them to her when they came in and made sure they got into the right Scout's hand."

"Like Kurt?"

Rachel turned to her. All Santana could see were the wrinkles in her forehead. The rest of her expression was hidden behind goggles. "Kurt's condition kept him near the Town. Even so, Shelby didn't trust him enough with private matters."

Santana nodded away from her, tapping a finger against her lips. The letters went back and forth like that until they stopped with an angry _G.S.C. _saying they would be in Fostoria by morning. Santana's guess for _G.S.C. _was Governor Shelby Corcoran.

"Who's _C.T_.?"

Rachel tiled her head a moment. "Chief Tanaka I'd assume if you're reading through telegrams from Fostoria."

Santana nodded, peeling back the last letter to a page that had sketches of both Fabray girls on it. "What do you know about Fostoria?"

"It's the largest prison holding from here until Buffalo. Lima sends criminals there once our jail gets too full and if they can't make bail or found guilty of a heinous crime. Sort of how they use to send criminals down to Australia." Rachel explained as she drove. Santana wondered what history book Rachel had found that bit of knowledge in. "The place is highly secure more so than Canton. It use to not be a while back and a lot of people escaped or broke out, but the Governor complained as well as others from the outside so they stepped it up. It's not a friendly place to be."

Santana lifted up her sunglasses to get a better look at the two girls. From Santana's memory of them, the sketch hardly did either one justice. Even without the lack of cosmetics available anymore, they were striking. With blank eyes and sun burnt skin, they had been pretty. The sketch made them look like two deranged bitches just arrested out of a brawl.

The truck hit a bump, sending the papers out of Santana's lap and onto the floor. She quickly retrieved them, tucking the sketch under the rest of the papers. She turned to look up at Rachel, but whether she saw anything, Santana didn't know. Her eyes were hidden and her head was pointed forward.

Santana tapped the papers back into order on her knee. "Aren't you curious?" she asked, waving the stack in the air.

"No," Rachel reached over, picking up the map that was folded up unevenly between them. "Open this, please,"

Santana tucked the papers she had been reading back into her bag before taking the map. It wasn't like the maps in school in the First Days. It was a map drawn out by hand of the new penciled out terrain. "Tell me what Finn's letter said and I'll tell you what's in here,"

Rachel laughed softly. "That's okay,"

"Are you going to take him up in it?" She handed the map over.

Rachel held it across the wheel, using one hand to steer. Her head looked from the map to the road as she looked for a route, eyebrows drawn in and lips pursed. "He didn't ask me to elope,"

"Why not?"

"Would you like me to?"

Santana sucked her teeth, crossing her arms. "That wasn't the question,"

"You avoided mine as well so I suppose we're even," said Rachel, running the finger of her free hand along a road of the map then pulled it away and handing back for Santana to refold.

"Would you ever leave?" asked Santana, bracing herself as Rachel turned the truck on a sharp left. "Not with Finn, I mean, just cause,"

"Wouldn't you?"

She snorted, resting her head against the window again. "And go where?"

"Exactly,"

"How about with Finn?" she teased again, feeling the bile rise up in her throat at the thought of Rachel's fingers laced with his and skipping off into the sun.

Rachel gave a frustrated sigh. Santana wished she could see her eyes. Everything Rachel felt or told was always in her eyes and it was the one thing Rachel had learned to keep hidden from Santana. "If he asked me to, which he didn't, I would refuse. My life is in Lima."

"Your life's a piece of shit," Santana hummed, swallowing the lump in her throat that had developed in anxiety as she waited for her answer.

"Everyone's is so I should have no reason to complain," said Rachel. She nodded towards the windshield before pointing at the hazy view of a Town coming up in the distance. "There it is. Buckle up,"

-/-/-/-

Fostoria was a dirty place, surrounded by guards and void of any warmth. It was nothing like Lima. Lima was a civilian town, made to sustain life and rebuild a culture that had been lost in destruction. Fostoria was just a criminal's village with a high, chain length fence with coils and coils of barbed wire going along the tops and bottoms where it was dug into the dirt, disappearing underground.

Rachel slowed the truck to a crawl, easing up to one of the entrances that surrounded the place. High watchtowers topped with guards with guns watched them coming in, weapons pointed towards the cargo truck. Santana took note of her own gun tucked deep in her satchel as she stared up at her own reflection in the visor of one of the guard's helmets.

They stopped at the entrance gate. The iron bars were black as tar and as high as a basketball goal. Through the bars, Santana could see prisoners clad in drab, gray clothes and chained up to nine other men or women by the wrist and ankles walking through a courtyard led by a guard. They were unlike the one's in Lima.

Rachel was a guard but she looked precious and harmless against the ones in Fostoria. The guards here wore all black, chest thick with bulletproof vests and helmets with visors that could be pushed up or let down over their eyes. The bulky equipment that weight on their belts looked just as heavy and metallic as the bandolier of bullets across their chest. Their steel-toed boots crushed gray gravel as they marched aside their prisoners keeping in time with the buzz of radios and jingling chains.

"We're safe here," said Rachel. Santana looked up into her eyes that were finally free of goggles. She hadn't even realized how tense she was until Rachel's reassuring smile eased her down.

Rachel cranked down her window. The check in booth was raised just enough for the guard's line of sight to reach into the truck. "State your name," His blue eyes were crisp and bright against the black of his clothes. Santana noted a tattoo running down the side of his neck and out of sight into the collar of his shirt.

"Rachel Berry of Lima," she extended an arm out, handing over the card Shelby had given them.

The man, a Noel by the name stitched to the front of his vest, looked it over for a moment with a raised blonde eyebrow before handing it back. "What is your business here?"

Rachel took it and tucked it away. "We're searching for someone you may have picked up."

He narrowed his eyes up to her. "You're Governor Corcoran's Guard," he hadn't asked, but Rachel nodded as he picked up his radio.

"I'm here on official business," leaning back, she motioned to Santana. "I've been put on assignment as escort for a Scavenging mission. My _mother _knows. There's no need to radio contact her."

Noel's eyes narrowed a fraction more. He held the radio up to his mouth, thumb pushing a button on the side. Stepping back out of view of them, he talked quietly into the speaker. A fuzzy static greeted him followed by a low voice Santana couldn't understand.

Another message passed between the guard and the one on the radio before he stepped back to the booth window. "Police truck just got in. They'll be at the entry port if they're here."

"Thank you," Rachel smiled, brightly. He gave a brisk nod before calling out for the gate to be opened.

A pair of guards ran out, undoing the latch. A metal arm sprung up so that the gates rattled. Another guard yanked back a lever that undid a bolt letting the gate doors swing open. Guards on the other side held onto the doors, pulling them back far enough for Rachel to drive the truck inside.

The truck bounded over the gate's speed bump and turned to the right, following a paved road that curved around a large, gray brick building. _Fostoria Penitentiary _was nailed in large, metal letter on one side just above a row of barred windows that Santana was sure ran all the way around the building on all two levels it had.

Swinging the truck around, Rachel parked them in a lot cluttered with other official cars. "We'll have to leave the truck here." She said, shutting the truck off. "Would you like me to stay here?"

Santana rolled her eyes, jamming her shoulder against the door to let herself out. "Come on,"

A guard greeted them at the entrance to the prison building. She looked over them both as she held the door open for them to step through. A dirty stench smacked Santana in the face making her cringe and her skin crawl. It was the mix of chemicals, death, and the unflattering perfume of unclean flesh. Santana was too busy focusing on keeping her breathing short she missed Rachel tell another guard what they were there for and began walking again.

She slowly got use to the smells as they walked down a long hallway lit with white bulbs strung down the corridor's ceiling like Christmas lights. The sound of yelling prisoners and banging on bars could be heard like the ghoulish howls of demons calling from the very pits of hell. It made Santana feel as if they're screams were crawling up her skin with the legs of spiders and dipping into her ears, scratching at her insides.

The door they had been stopped in front of swung open disrupting Santana's view of the name _Ken Tanaka _hanging on the wood. Out stepped the guard who had led them there. "The Chief says no one from Lima has been reported to be brought in."

"Who we're looking for…" Santana started but stopped when she remembered Rachel. Rachel who she couldn't tell. "May I speak with the Chief?" she asked instead.

The guard, a scruffy man with stubble peppering his face shifted on the balls of his feet a moment, looking from Rachel to Santana. "It's important. I'm sure Chief Tanaka won't mind," Rachel added. "It shouldn't take long,"

He gave a terse nod before disappearing behind the door. A moment ticked by and he reemerged, holding the door open. "Miss,"

"Go on," said Rachel. "I'll see who was brought in on the trucks."

"Twenty minutes," said Santana just as she slipped into the office. The guard holding the door let it shut behind him. Santana saw him join Rachel walking down the hall before it clicked shut.

Turning on her heels, Santana faced the Chief. He sat on the other side of a desk not nearly as grandiose as the Governor's. His office was a tiny place, full of filing cabinets and certificates posted on the walls. It was dark, done up in wood painted a tinted gray making Santana feel as if she were standing in an interrogation room. The smell was better than the halls, but it was mixed with the meaty scent of whatever was in the carton that sat on Tanaka's desk and whatever it was he was picking out of his teeth.

"What do you want?" he grunted, tossing down the splintered toothpick only to acquire another one. "Who are you?"

"Chief Tanaka," she began, swallowing the insults and retorts that she wanted to spit. He might be an official, and she might've been taught to respect anyone who had a fancy desk and leather chair but he was hardly anything to respect. "Santana Lopez, sir. I'm here to find someone for the Governor,"

"I got that much," he hummed around a finger that he was using when the toothpick failed. "Who is it? Got a picture, name, blood type?"

Santana swung off her bag to retrieve the pictures. She dropped into the metal chair in front of the desk as she slid the pictures across the top. "Lucy and Fran Fabray,"

The Chief laughed, loud and mocking. He wiped his spit, damp finger on the front of his deep green, officer shirt. "This is some joke,"

"I know they're not here anymore, but I need to find her," she pointed to Lucy's picture. Her face was so sad and so pained in it just as Santana had remembered.

"I know who they are," he flicked the pictures. Santana hurried to catch them before they flew off the desk. "I told Shelby to give this up. You think you're the first one who's showed here looking for them? They're useless and probably dead."

"So you haven't seen them since?"

Ken sat back in his chair with an annoyed sigh. "And don't want to,"

"Elaborate,"

"You might work for Governor Corcoran but you ain't shit. I demand some respect."

Santana flexed her jaw and took a deep breath. "Elaborate, please, sir,"

"Those two," he rolled backwards to get up. Santana watched him walk to the weathered filing cabinet behind his desk. Out of it, he pulled a manila folder and came to sit back down. "We picked them up years ago. They had no documentation on them so we didn't know where they were from until Corcoran sent out a mass telegram. She didn't come pick 'em up though."

"Why?"

"Who knows why that woman does anything?" he grumbled, shoving the folder towards Santana. "They stayed here for a while under Corcoran's request until they got out. I told her to give up looking but she had half my staff scouting every local town for them for months until I pulled them off patrol. Last report of them being seen, they were on the Ohio border." Ken reached into the carton on his desk. A chicken wing, nearly clean of meat found its way between his teeth. "I say they're dead and good riddance too. One of 'em had the tics. Cannibalism does that to you. Wasted goods,"

Santana's eyebrow arched. She looked up from a paper documenting Fran's illness matching that of what the telegrams had read. "Goods?"

"Gotta pay the boys some how," Ken shrugged, sitting back in his chair, lips smacking. Santana tensed, eyes blinking in repulsed surprise. "Come on, It's not like that's a secret."

"Yeah," Santana felt her skin crawl again. "I'm sure that's why your prisoners are screaming right now,"

"Now you listen here, doll," he leaned forward, finger pointed straight at her. Santana could feel the weight of it in her chest. "Those two were being pimped out before they even got to this place. It was all they were good at. Wouldn't clean, wouldn't work, wouldn't nothin'. You don't get put into this place just to sit around and starve to death and look pretty. You gotta do something and they picked hard labor."

"Picked or forced?"

"They get put into a cell. Whatever happens from there isn't my concern." He said, sucking his teeth loudly. The chicken bone rattled back into the carton at the flick of his wrist. "No one even wanted to touch the older one. She was lucky if someone so much as slapped her on the ass."

"You run a whore house not a prison," Santana spat in disgust.

"No difference between either anymore, sweetheart."

"You probably let them escape," Santana sneered, sitting back. "Scum like that, they couldn't get enough of your officers off so you let them slip past the guards. There's no way two emaciated girls could get past your security however shit it use to be."

Ken's eyes darkened, his voice dropping a shade. "You're kind of low on the food chain to be back talking, Lopez,"

Santana stared him straight in the eye. "You're kind of an asshole to deserve any respect,"

"Why you-"

"Santana," Rachel called, coming through the door just as Tanaka's stubby fingers grabbed the fabric of her bandana around her neck and jerked. "Sir?" Wide brown eyes blinked from Santana's gritted teeth to the raised fist the Chief had reeled back. "If you could please release her. The Governor has requested us back to the Town immediately."

Tanaka's grip twisted, reeling Santana's face closer. She could smell the flavor of chicken wings and scotch on his breath. "Yeah, well tell your Governor she-"

"Chief Tanaka, sir," Rachel pressed evenly. She took another step forward. Behind her Santana could see the guard who had escorted them down to the office. He stood back, face red with anger and distress. "I apologize for whatever Miss Lopez has said or done. She is fairly new to the system and has yet learned to hold her tongue. I promise you that her punishment will be given tenfold to whatever you were about to apply yourself." Her brow creased, eyes darkening as they looked at Santana in revulsion and spat, "Governor Corcoran will make sure of that,"

Santana felt the smallest jerk of the Chief's hand. She turned to face him again, heart racing at the murderous glint in his near colorless eyes. Breath raged out of his nostrils as he let her go, pushing just enough so Santana was forced against the back of her chair.

Fluidly, she stood, peering down at him. "Thank you for your time, sir," she said, tersely and walked out following on Rachel's heels back through the hall and out the front entrance.

"Did the Governor really-" She was cut off by the sting of a hand against her cheek. Santana blinked incredulously. Rachel stood in front of her, hand still hovering in the air with anger in her wide opened eyes. "What the-"

"How stupid can I be? _Me_?" Rachel choked out an empty laugh. "I may lack the knowledge on why I should tether myself to someone else while sleeping or how to decipher whether or not a particularly destroyed area is safe and clear, but if there's one thing I do know, it is how to keep myself in line no matter how displeasing or horrid or distasteful an official can be.

"I also know that had I not assaulted an officer just to barge in there and save you from getting us both reported to Shelby and the unthinkable happen to us upon our return, you would never see the light of day again because you'd be locked up in one of those cells without a choice of who gets your body."

Rachel glared up at her, red faced and eyes glossed with unshed tears. Her chest heaved, nose slightly flared in her anger. Santana's mouth hung slightly open, her heart hammering against her ribs and the nerves in her cheek tingling.

"Rachel, I-"

"Get in the truck," she snipped, hand lifted up to shut Santana down. "Just, please, get in the truck. We're leaving,"

Nodding, Santana rounded to her side and climbed in, grimacing at the slam of Rachel's door.

_til next chapter_


	5. Part V

S_ong used: Britney Spears, Everytime  
Enjoy_

**Part V**

Rachel had held back.

A week passed and Santana was still stuck on the slap. She swore she could still feel the sting in her jaw but that was just her mind playing tricks. Ticks that connected the ache of a slap to Rachel's soft lips on Santana's for the first time.

She had just gone for it. She had spent too much time waiting for Rachel to catch up. Waiting for the right moment to say how she felt, but even if the opportunity would've arose, Santana doubted she would've gotten out the words. It was easier to show it. So she did. Just like Brittany had suggested and Mercedes frowned upon.

Santana could still remember the few seconds of heat from Rachel's body when she pressed her back against the wall of her porch. She could still feel the fullness and dryness of Rachel's lips, peppered with the metallic favors that the Town's water had. Santana had been lost, and too off her guard to even anticipate the hand that was coming up to smack against her cheek. When Rachel had slapped her, Santana felt it for days, but it was Rachel's retreating back down the road that rang out even more.

It took a week before Rachel looked her in the eye, then a week more before she told Santana that, "It is hardly polite to force something like that upon a person and with no warning at that. Honestly, Santana, what did you think I'd do? Melt into your arms like putty? You have some nerve, Santana Lopez. Some nerve!" before storming off away from the training lot and swiftly slamming the door behind her with Kurt's laugh in the wind.

It took two more weeks before Rachel knocked on her door and said shyly, "I'm going to kiss you now and afterwards you're allowed to ask me to be your girlfriend. But only afterwards," That time her lips were sweet like fruit and her tongue more intoxicating than nectar.

"Not that I don't mind driving around aimlessly," started Rachel. Santana lifted her head off her propped up fist to look over at her. "But have you thought of where our next stop should be?"

Her eyes traced the curve of Rachel's cheek down to the way her lips puckered a nice deep shade of pink. Santana had the color memorized if only because she liked how rich and red they'd look after she spent however long kissing and biting them.

Santana pulled in a sudden breath causing Rachel to look at her. A dark eyebrow lifted over the bow of her shades. "Well?"

"These things take time,"

"You've been wasting it," said Rachel. Rolling her eyes, Santana shifted in her chair, noting the numbness in her rear. She didn't know how long they'd been going and she didn't care.

She was swinging back and forth between rage and remorse over the Fostoria situation. The times when Rachel wouldn't look at her made her angry and the mornings she woke up a couple minutes after Rachel jerked the rope twice made her feel apologetic. Still, that slap hurt and Tanaka deserved what he got.

"Are you listening?" Rachel exhaled loudly. "I've seen you look in that envelope twice since we began. There is no way you've read through it all."

Santana jerked open the glove compartment to retrieve the bent envelope. "Would you like to do it for me?" she held it out toward Rachel.

"You know I can't," she pushed it away only for Santana to offer it to her again.

"Who's going to stop you out here?"

"How about you do your job?" Rachel snipped, snatching the envelope out of Santana's hand and throwing it down into her lap. Santana grabbed it before it could topple off her knees and spill onto the floor. "You did promise Shelby you would get that done," she turned to meet Santana's eyes just as she slithered out, "Amongst other things,"

Santana rolled her eyes. "What are you even talking about?"

Rachel was quiet a moment. "When Shelby had me make sure your dad left the Precinct. Did you really think I went that far?"

"When aren't you eavesdropping on your mother?" Santana hissed, slamming the glove compartment shut with a harsh click.

Rachel kept her head angled forward, her jaw only moving to chew on her lip. The muscles in her hands flexed and relaxed as they gripped and loosened on the steering wheel repeatedly. If Santana could see her eyes, she would've seen Rachel building up the asking,

"What did she say she'd do to you?" it came out steady.

"What do you mean?"

"She threatened you, is that right?"

Santana pulled up her sunglasses to squint over at her. "I don't know what you're talking about,"

"You never doubted yourself," Rachel sighed, back falling completely against her seat but her shoulders stayed wound up tight. "You never doubted yourself with me then all of a sudden you didn't want to be with me. I know Shelby had something to do with it but-"

"But nothing. I was done. We were done. The Governor is out of the question," she turned to look out the windshield, arms pulling over her chest. She was ready for this conversation. She didn't think she'd ever really be. "Didn't I say we weren't going to talk about this?"

"But we never _did _talk about this,"

"I thought I summed it up pretty good when I slammed that door on your face." Santana fired off. She could feel the nervous tick shoot down to her foot making it want to start tapping. She fought against it, crossing her legs the best she could in the small space. "There wasn't anything else to talk about."

"If you want to keep lying, then okay, that's your game," said Rachel, voice quivering the slightest. Santana bit the inside of her jaw. If there was one thing she couldn't ever stand it was Rachel crying. "But that only works if I don't actually know a part of the truth."

She sucked in a breath to compose herself. "And that is?"

"That you've just been pretending," she said softly. Santana only swallowed. "I've kept myself up at night sick wondering why you just let me go. I thought if I knew something for sure then I'd be okay. But hearing Shelby say that to you before we left, I still couldn't sleep. You know why?"

No, is what Santana wanted to say. No, and that she didn't much care. But everything inside of her betrayed itself making her ask, "Why?"

"Because I couldn't believe you'd let someone, even my mother, steal something from you that was rightfully yours. I couldn't believe the Santana I knew backed down that way. I mean," she trailed off, lip reddening the more she chewed on it. "What did she tell you? What did she say she'd do to you if you were with me? What would make you give up?"

"There wasn't anything to give up on," said Santana, coolly though everything inside of her was anything but cool. "What I thought I had or wanted with you wasn't worth it."

"Tell me the truth, Santana," said Rachel, jerking the truck to a halt. She turned to face her, sunglasses ripping off her eyes. Fiery, brow eyes stared her down. "Did she say she'd kill one of us? Because that is the only thing I can think of that would make you pretend that you don't love me anymore."

"You keep saying that I'm pretending but have you ever stopped to think that maybe I actually don't?" Santana snapped, the words feeling all so wrong in her mouth. But she had promised, hadn't she? "We were eighteen, Rachel. People grow up and they grow apart. If you were really listening to our conversation, then you know I shut your mother down. There's nothing for her, or you, or me to worry about because I don't want you. I haven't wanted you and I don't love you."

Rachel shook her head, eyes pinched closed for a moment to hold back fresh tears. She cleared her throat, voice lowering down to steady. "Then why would you assume she wanted you gone?"

"What?"

"That night when I came over," Rachel started, staring her straight in the eyes, "I know how Shelby works. She's loved to torture me in one way or another, so what better way to do that than dangle you in front of me for weeks on end? She knows it could push me over the edge but not you. So why? What did she tell you?"

Santana kept her face fixed. She kept herself from swallowing and she kept her eyes from shifting. She kept her lids from fluttering and she kept her teeth bitten on the inside of her lip to hold everything down. She kept it all in and she kept stony eyes on Rachel's pleading ones that bounced from one of Santana's to the other.

She was begging her so much in just the way her face started to fall. She was grasping out for Santana, floundering for something – anything – but she wouldn't give it to her. Just like Santana didn't give her anything when she told Rachel it was over. The shatter of Rachel's heart could be seen in her eyes then and the gutting of everything Santana had just said was written all over Rachel's face just before it morphed and she blanked. Rachel shut down.

"Fine," Rachel choked; sliding her shades back on and turned the key so the truck shut off. "Then I'm not sorry,"

"For what?"

"For slapping you," she said evenly, undoing her buckle. She sniffed quickly so that the bang of the metal buckle hitting the door would hide it, but Santana heard it. "I was going to apologize for slapping you back at the prison but I see now that you deserved it."

"Then you shouldn't have held back," said Santana, her eyes still holding on Rachel who turned to face her again. Her mouth bobbed for a moment like the lively Rachel would when she was working up something perfect. But this Rachel was broken and shut down. Instead,

"No," she said simply. "I shouldn't have," Rachel tugged the handle to the truck, letting the door fly open.

The windows shivered at the force behind the slam of the door that made Santana herself flinched backwards. Out the driver side window, she could see Rachel in a full sprint, sand kicking up in her wake as she ran off into the distance away from the truck and away from Santana who had just chewed her up and spat her back out all over again.

Sighing, Santana dropped her face into hands, eyes pinched tight to hold back her tears. Her teeth bit into the heel of her hand in attempts to keep herself from crying. She had shed enough tears over the years on Rachel. She hardly thought there were any left to give now.

-/-/-/-

_Pounding on wood drew Santana out of sleep. She rolled over, the feather chain around her neck sliding coolly across her skin as she rolled onto her stomach and opened her eyes to the darkness of the house. Knocking persisted, harsh and staccato. Santana slid herself off the bed, hand blindly finding the shirt she had thrown off in the heat._

_Pulling her arms through the sleeves, she padded through her room and into the sitting room, buttoning it up as she went. The knocking grew louder; ticking on her nerves and making the headache she was attempting to sleep off creep back up on her._

_Annoyed, Santana flung the door open, tongue ready to snap at the idiot who was on her stoop. She was stopped short with seeing the grinning face of Shelby flanked by two emotionless guards. Santana swallowed her insults quickly._

"_Hello, Santana," Santana blinked up at Shelby trying to look less asleep and more alert. "Is your father home?"_

"_No ma'am," she cleared her throat, hand running through her hair in attempts to make it look more presentable. "Would you like me to take a message for him?"_

"_Oh no. I'm not here for him," she smiled wickedly. Her eyes looked Santana down from head to toe before landing on her face again. "May I come in?"_

"_Of course," Santana stepped back to allow the Governor to walk across the threshold. Santana watched the guards step in after her. She waited another moment, expecting Rachel to come in. Rachel was always with Shelby._

"_There's no one else," said Shelby. Santana turned around to see the Governor making herself comfortable on the long couch. Her guards stood on either side of it. "Please sit, Santana,"_

_Nodding, Santana shut the door and moved to sit in the chair just across from the Governor. She sat up straight, watching Shelby take in the house with her eyes. They shifted from one thing to another, her hands clasped and resting on her knees. When she was done, she sat back._

"_I'll make this quick," she said, one leg throwing over the other. Shelby dusted off the fabric of her skirt then folded her hands in her lap. "I'm aware of the relationship you and my daughter have," Santana said nothing. "Why neither of you thought to tell me…"_

_Santana swallowed, her back straightening. "I didn't know Rachel hadn't," Shelby only smiled, her eyes boring into Santana as if she was attempting to catch her in the lie. But Santana wasn't lying. Last her and Rachel spoke about it, they agreed to tell Shelby. Rachel hadn't held up her end. _

"_Are you in love with her?"_

_Santana felt her jaw drop open. "What?"_

"_Are you in love Rachel?"_

"_I-" Santana stuttered. She quickly composed herself though she could feel her cheeks blazing hot. "Yes," she croaked because she had only told Rachel herself once and it took months before Santana could whisper it to even her. _

"_Then I'm sorry," The smile on Shelby's lips slid down into an empty frown. "My daughter is off limits to you," said Shelby, nonchalantly. "You're no longer able to see her."_

"_Governor Corcoran, ma'am, we-" Santana shifted in her chair, mind lagging in processing the words just spoken to her. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you. When me and Rachel talked...she said she was going to-"_

"_You are not the only one Rachel lies to,"_

_Santana pursed her lips, brow creasing. "Did I do something wrong?"_

"_It's nothing personal. The thing is…Let me start by saying this," started Shelby in a long sigh as she sat back against the couches cushion. "I have recently lost something – someone – very dear to me. It took me so long to acquire someone so precious as them, and though so many are blessed with the opportunity to…meet someone so wonderful, I have not always been fortunate. It's why I started Lima. It was a chance to give those people an opportunity. But there are still those who have their moment of joy but it doesn't last. It's gone without warning. Rachel, she doesn't understand the depth of pain something lost like that can cause."_

_Shelby looked up from her lap to stare into Santana's eyes. Her mocha eyes were glossed with the mist of tears. It made Santana's chest constrict. She had seen the Governor in many emotions. Most of them in a muted state of rage, but not once had she seen Shelby stripe herself down so vulnerable._

_Santana's tongue darted out to swipe across her lips before she rasped, "What are you saying?"_

"_You're in love Rachel?"_

"_Y-yes,"_

"_You hesitated that time," Shelby batted her lashes, mist drying up from her lids. "Don't hesitate. You should never hesitate on things you're sure about."_

"_Yes, I am," Santana answered, confidently. _

_The frown Shelby had been wearing slowly started to ease up into a smirk. "And you'd do anything for her? Even if that was to act like you didn't?"_

_Santana narrowed her eyes. "Why would I do that?"_

"_Because if you do not, like me Santana," bright, white pointy teeth peeked from grin split lips, "you'll share in the severity of my pain,"_

_Santana's stomach twisted into knots, all thoughts of the Governor's walls coming down fading away. "You're going to kill Rachel?"_

"_Only if you don't do as I say," the singsong in Shelby's vice boiled hot anger in the hollow of Santana's chest. "Don't look like that, Santana. Its just…some parents have one way of teaching their children a lesson and I have mine."_

_Santana gritted her teeth. "No,"_

"_No?" her dark eyebrows lifted up._

"_No," Santana repeated. She pulled her arms around her chest to hide the way her hands were shaking in her lap. "No, I won't do it."_

"_Oh, Santana," Shelby raised her hands, clapping twice. "Either way,"_

_Santana didn't have the time to react before one of the guards bounded across the room, holding a gun against her temple while the other stood on the opposite side of Shelby with his own gun cocked and drawn pointing straight at her heart. Out the corner of her eye, she saw the guards thumb cock it and his finger lay gently on the trigger. Santana blinked from the warm, chocolate eyes of the one aiming for her heart down to Shelby's own burning brown pair._

"_I'll get what I want," Shelby finished, arms folding over her chest. "You either agree or she'll suffer in mourning over your lifeless body on the side of the road. Take your pick."_

_The metal of the gun grew warmer against Santana's skin. She could hear it rattle with each pounding beat of her heart. The blood in her veins turned cold the longer she attempted to stare Shelby down. It was a losing battle, she knew. She knew it before she said no and it was that reason alone that made Santana wet her throat with a thick swallow and mutter a tense,_

"_Okay,"_

_Shelby's eyebrows lifted high. "Okay, what?"_

"_Okay," Santana snarled hoping the force behind it tuned out the breaking of her heart. "I'll do it,"_

"_Promise?" Shelby's head titled, smile twisting and breaking Santana even more._

_She let out a breath in attempts to steady her voice. "Promise,"_

"_And the next time you see her, you'll do what?"_

"_I'll leave her," she answered obediently. _

"_And you'll make it as if you never once did love her,"_

_Santana choked out a laugh. "She'll know I'm lying," _

"_You've always been good with your words, Santana. I'm sure you'll find the right things to say to make it convincing." Shelby examined her nails a moment. Santana tensed, feeling the barrel of the gun dig deeper into her temple. "Deal?"_

_She clenched her teeth, forehead wrinkled in anger. "Deal," she growled._

_Shelby smiled, hands waving in the air. The Guards lowered their guns but the action didn't relax Santana the smallest bit. She sat stock still and board straight, frozen and broken against the cushion of the chair, watching as Shelby rose up and walked towards the front door ahead of her Guards._

_Opening the door, she turned over her shoulder, dark eyes making sure to bore into Santana's as she said, "You promised," and let the door shut on her back._

-/-/-/-

Santana squinted through the dust the trucks wheels kicked up as she drove. Her knuckles felt like they were on the verge of splitting by how hard she was clutching the steering wheel and her jaw hurt from how tightly she was clenching her teeth. A soft clap of thunder echoed from the distance. The dark, black rain clouds could be seen coming up on the horizon and Santana floored it.

It may have been the only reason she decided to chance her luck driving after Rachel. She had learned long ago to never chase a Rachel Berry down after such a blow out - at least not right away. But they were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but dirt, dried up grass, and various beat up pieces of metal to let her wander far and the coming storm would have her dead within minutes.

Flat terrain gave way to lead into a destructed old city. Buildings, broken down by mostly fire lined up on either side of the path Santana navigated through. The wheels bumped and the truck shook as she rolled over what was left of car parts in the street. Her body jerked around in the driver seat, ramming into the door.

She mumbled under her breath as she went, wondering to herself why she waited so long before she started after Rachel. She had been going in a full sprint and from past memories of training, Santana knew Rachel had the best endurance out of the best of them.

"Damn it, Berry," Santana sighed, catching sight of her just up ahead walking along a busted up sidewalk.

At the sound of the truck, Rachel turned around to glare at Santana through the windshield before she started up in a jog. Santana pressed on the gas, frowning at the way Rachel slowed her pace to an exhausted walk then tried to kick it back up into a run over and over again

Rolling over a fallen streetlight pole, Santana pulled the truck up to follow alongside Rachel who refused to look up. Her face was glistening with sweat that rolled down her forehead and neck in heavy beads leaving steaks as they coasted down her skin. Her skin was flushed and her lips were chapped and dry, split open as she panted in the heat.

"Rachel!" Santana cranked down the window. "Get in,"

"Go away,"

"Rachel," Santana groaned, feeling the sting of Rachel's words in her chest. It reminded Santana of how many times she had dismissed Rachel's presence after she left her. It was so cold, and lifeless, and piercing.

"No," she barked with a little less bite.

"Come on," Santana urged. Her body shook again as she rolled over something else just in time with another dull roll of thunder. She looked up at the sky noting they were headed straight for the storm. "It's going to rain,"

"So be it," Rachel spat then wet her lips with a lazy tongue. "I'd rather be scorched to death than be in that truck with you," with a skip, she started to run again.

"No! Okay. Alright," Santana stopped the truck at the cross of an intersection too torn apart and cracked for her to navigate the truck along safely.

Jumping out, Santana ran to catch up with Rachel who pushed herself to get away. But Santana had pent up energy making it easy for her to come up on Rachel's heels with ease. Reaching out, she grabbed Rachel's swinging arm, jerking her backward.

"What are you doing?" Rachel protested, stumbling backwards so she fell back into Santana. She quickly pushed herself up, other arm coming up to swat at the hand that held her captive. "Let me go!"

"Not until you get in the truck," Santana hissed through her teeth. She yanked Rachel's arm, ramming her into her chest. She wrapped both arms around Rachel from behind, fighting against every thrash and wiggle she fought with. "Damn it, calm down,"

"Get off me. Get off me right now," Rachel cried out pitifully. She jerked to one side, shifting Santana off balance. She let go a moment to steady herself and caught Rachel before she could weasel herself away again. "I will end you, Santana Lopez,"

"Try me," Santana spat right at her ear.

Rachel went still in her arms for a second before Santana felt her chest inflate against her hold and then she was being hurled over Rachel's shoulder and onto the pavement. Santana's back collided with the ground, forcing the wind out of her chest causing her to gasp.

"_Fuck,"_ she wheezed, rolling to her side and gulping in dry air. She blinked against the black dots in her vision watching Rachel quickly jogging away from her again, feet dragging in her exhaustion. Santana pushed herself up as she yelled out, "Berry, come on,"

"No!" Rachel's voice echoed off the abandoned buildings that surrounded them. The force of her scream shocked them both and Santana watched Rachel slow down and turn to face her with gritted teeth feet away from her. "No," she panted, fist clenching at her sides. "Not until you tell me the truth,"

Santana heaved, her aching back screaming out in protest as she straightened up. Her eyes darted all over Rachel's face taking all of her in. She looked terrible. She looked so much worse than Santana remembered. Even compared to those times Santana saw her at the Precinct after everything. She had looked thin then with red-rimmed eyes and defined bags, but this Rachel…

She looked so small and so beat. Her skin was raw like sand paper and her brown eyes were lifeless and begging to be resuscitated but Santana wasn't giving. Santana had just taken and it wasn't even her fault, but that didn't matter. Not when she was staring at the shell of a girl who brought Santana more life than she had felt in the fifteen years of living in destruction. And she had been forced to give that up and now she was finally reaping the consequences of it.

"Tell me the truth!" Rachel demanded, foot stomping against the pavement.

The truth? There was a reason she hadn't told the truth. Because the truth hurt and the truth was the one thing that would bring about exactly what Shelby threatened she'd do. So Santana balled her fist and she gave as much of the truth that she could without breaking her promise to the Governor but at the same time would make Rachel understand what and why she had did what she had done.

"And then what?" Santana yelled, her heart beating in her throat. "I can tell you she told me to do it and she held a gun to my head but what would that change? I didn't fight for your ass because I didn't want to have one of us buried by a dust storm on the outskirts of town like she threatened to do to either of us if I didn't do what she told me to. You living – seeing you everyday – was more important to me than having you gone for good. So hate me for it. Go on. I did what I did because I did care. Because I loved you."

Rachel's head tilted so sweat matted hair fell out of the messy ponytail it was thrown up in. Her eyes narrowed and her lashes fluttered as her mind took in what Santana had said. And out of everything Santana thought Rachel would say, out of all the things she could've said or asked, the one thing that came out of her mouth was a simple,

"Loved?"

"Yes," Santana's mouth was dry and her chest was clenching so tight that it made breathing even more difficult in the arid heat.

It clenched so tight that I almost forced the present tense out of her. Because she still did love Rachel and the feather tucked into her shirt that burned white hot against her chest was a reminder of that. But she wasn't allowed to love Rachel anymore. So yes she,

"Loved you, yes I did,"

"Did?" Rachel repeated, her gaze burning into Santana as she muttered, "what about now?"

Santana sighed, forcing herself not to look away. "Funny thing about pretending," she said, sadly, "is that after a while you're not pretending anymore."

Rachel only blinked and Santana watched her. Thunder clashed against the chorus of each of their panting and the raging of Santana's pulse. Her whole body ached with the coiled tension that vibrated from the tips of her fingers to the bottoms of her feet. It was only eased by Rachel's hands relaxing and her shoulders finally loosening up.

The anger in her eyes was gone but there was a new weight on her. One of hope lost that Santana also kissed goodbye. She had entertained her own thoughts of the assignment with Rachel. Of possibilities of what was once theirs being rekindled. But the risk of that was too great and a life with Rachel in it at arms length away was better than one without Rachel in it at all.

"Okay," it left Rachel's lips in a puff of air.

"Rachel,"

"We should find a place to set up a tent or camp out before the storm hits." She went on, walking towards Santana.

"Yeah," Santana murmured as Rachel walked right by her heading for the truck. "Alright,"

-/-/-/-

_Santana trudged the path to Rachel's flat. She was already scheduled to come by Santana's. She had planned some sort of nightly outing for the two of them that Rachel promised wouldn't be like their usual ventures out of Lima. Those were normally low key and spent in the bed of the truck Rachel snagged out of the Precinct lot, kissing under the clouds and cuddling while Rachel sang softly into Santana's ear who fought against her heavy lids._

_Rachel's place was a small little thing. It sat with the other one room houses in a cluster just off from the Town's center. Warm light burned around the edges of curtains draped over the windows and a string of tiny lights drooped across the overhang of the porch like the tiny glow of fireflies._

_Santana marched heavily up the steps, eyes on the dirt that her boots scattered on the wood. There was rustling on the inside. Rachel must've been getting ready to leave for Santana's. She wondered what it was Rachel had planned. They had already done everything she thought. Being together nearly two years there was hardly much else to do. They had exhausted the usual pockets outside of town._

_They had gone out to the dry pasture and rolled in the grass. They had scaled the remains of old skyscrapers to get a closer look at the stars. They had skinny dipped in the cove a long hours drive away that dried up not that long ago. They had done every little thing Santana could think of...but maybe not and she'd never know. _

_Her palms started to sweat in her clenched fist. Santana uncurled them only to dry them off on her jean shorts. Her eyes raised to stare at the door. A door she had looked at and knocked on and leaned against and kicked and slammed and opened so many times.__  
_

_She knocked.  
_

"_Who's there?" Rachel called instantly._

_Santana sighed, wavering on the balls of her feet. She could go. She could walk off Rachel's porch and skip out of Town for the night. She could avoid Rachel and the Governor and the-_

"_Santana?" Rachel's eyes were narrowed as she looked up at her through a crack in the door. She pulled it more open, eyebrow rising. __"I thought I was coming to you," Rachel ran a hand through her hair. _

_Santana smirked. "I never said who I was,"_

_Rachel rolled her eyes. "I looked through the window when you took so long to answer. Come in,"_

_"Rach, wait, I-"_

_"Whatever you're going to say, say it inside," she combed through her hair again. It was still damp and tangled but they were passed the point of trying to look flawless in front of one another. "You're letting all the cold air out."_

_"What cold air?" she teased._

_Santana followed her inside, looking at the familiar sitting room. Only a small couch with an end table topped with a lamp cluttered the room. A dusty rug spread across the wooden floor that whined under Rachel's footsteps into the back room._

_"I don't use black curtains for no reason," Rachel's voice came muffled from her room, gradually getting clear as she walked back into the sitting room running a brush through her hair. "Despite them being tacky, they keep enough heat out so by night it's reasonable in here."_

_Santana pursed her lips. "The Precinct has AC,"_

_"The Precinct also has Shelby. I'll take privacy over a couple degrees knocked off the thermometer. Besides," Rachel padded across the room, hand dropping away from her untamed hair to take Santana's face in her palms. "If we were at the Precinct, someone might catch us doing this,"_

_Her lips molded with Santana's in a deep kiss. She felt herself react despite everything. There was not a time when Santana didn't react to those lips on hers. It was always immediate the way she circled her arms around Rachel's back, tugging her closer to feel all of her. But all of her was what she was supposed to be rejecting right now._

"_Rachel-"_

"_Shh," Rachel cooed, taking one of Santana's pouty lips between her teeth and bit down. "You're all mine tonight,"_

_Santana melted instantly, losing herself in the sensation of a tongue across the tiny teeth marks on her lip and the way fingernails were now dragging lazily across her scalp. But it was when she opened her eyes for a moment to see lidded brown ones staring back at her that Santana's mind reassemble._

_She pulled back abruptly making their lips smack in disconnection. "About that,"_

_"About what?" Rachel blinked, rattled. Santana looked away from those eyes that always probed her and dug into her in the best of ways but now wasn't one of those times. "About what, Santana? What's wrong?"_

_"We need to talk," said Santana, taking the slightest step backward before she was tempted to lean back forward. "About us. We-"_

_"Listen," Rachel hurried, cutting Santana off. "I know we talked about informing Shelby about our relationship, but I figured it's nearly two years over due and she already knows without me speaking to her. Not to mention Shelby has never cared about anything in my life. She's content on ignoring what happens to me so I didn't tell her. We can if you want but…but don't be mad, okay?"_

_Were it any other time, Santana would've laughed at the outburst. She would've tugged Rachel into her, and shut her up before she could've said much at all. "I'm not mad," she said instead, keeping her gaze from meeting Rachel's._

_"Then what's wrong?" Rachel stepped forward, hand cupping Santana's cheek. She pulled out of it. "Santana?" she tried again but Santana jerked her face from her hand. "What's wrong?"_

_"Us," said Santana, catching the hand that was trying to touch he again._

_"Us?" Rachel echoed, wrenching her wrist out of Santana's grip. "What do you mean us? As in _us_ us?"_

_"I..." Santana swallowed. "I can't let you keep believing that I still feel the same about you." She took a breath to steady her voice.__"Because I don't and I haven't, and," she forced herself to look up at Rachel's face as she said, "I don't want to be with you anymore."_

_"Santana Lopez, you had better be joking." Rachel guffawed, her wringing hands breaking apart a moment to run nervously through her hair. Santana said nothing. "Santana, stop it," Rachel's uneasy grin slipped off. Santana still kept quiet. "No, no, no. You're joking. Stop it. This isn't funny."_

_Her eyebrow quirked up, arms pulling over her chest. "Who's laughing?"_

_"You can't be serious," Santana stared down at her, letting Rachel's eyes bounce from one of hers to the other. She let Rachel take in her words until they sank in just enough to shake her. "I- we were- I had everything...tonight we...Santana what are you telling me right now?"_

_"I know you had no problem hearing what I said. You have perfect hearing, remember?"_

_"Oh no, do not get smart with me. Not right now."_

_Santana sighed. "I knew you'd start flipping out," she rolled her eyes and nearly grimaced at seeing how it registered as a slap on Rachel's face. "I don't want to be with you, Rachel. What's so hard to understand about that?"_

_"I don't know," Rachel coughed out, sarcastically. "Maybe that just the other day you were crying in my arms because you told me you loved me and now you're saying you don't want anything to do with me."_

_"I didn't say that, but that might be a good idea." Santana quickly shot back before that memory settled in. "I don't want to be with you and I don't want anything to do with you. Sorry."_

_"No," Rachel shook her head, pacing away from Santana only to come back to stand in front of her. "No, no, no. You cannot follow that up with a sorry. Tell me why,"_

_"Why?" she waved off, using the moment of Rachel's eyes pinched closed to quickly blink back her own tears. "I mean, I can start listing off all the things that I absolutely dislike about you which have recently begun to override the things I do like - or did like."_

_"Oh god. Oh my god, you-" she pressed a palm to her forehead, feet taking her from one point in the room to the other. Santana watched her pace, the time bomb in herself ticking before she erupted. "I don't- No. Santana, no."_

"_I'm sorry,"_

"_Do not say you're sorry," she stopped in front of Santana, glossy eyes hard. "Just don't,"_

"_Fine," said Santana with a shrug. "I'm done," she turned around, teeth grinding together as she reached for the door._

"_Wait," Rachel grabbed hold of her sleeve, tugging. Santana spun back around to glare down at her. Rachel cowered, her voice dipping. "Why? Please, just tell me why. I don't understand how you could- how- we can talk about this. Just talk to me, okay? But don't do this."_

"_Begging," Santana spat, jerking her arm out of Rachel's hold. She saw Rachel flinch at her raised hand as if she were going to slap her. She quickly lowered it. "There goes one check on the list." _

_Wordlessly, Santana reached for the door, throwing it open. She could feel her chest starting to cave in and her throat starting to ache. She could feel her stomach start to churn and the sting at the corners of her eyes. She just needed to get away and get far enough away before she turned around and apologized and-_

"_Santana," Rachel's hand grabbed hold of her again causing her to stumble over the threshold and into her. Santana!"_

"_We're done, Berry!" Santana snarled, the bite behind it startling herself. She wheeled around, pushing Rachel off her before she registered what she was doing._

_She watched, her body nearly betraying her but Santana kept herself from reaching out to catch Rachel before she tripped backwards into the house and sprawled on the floor. She smacked hard against the wood, wind rushing out of her in a painful squeak. Looking up, Rachel found Santana's eyes and locked on with pure disbelief. Tears burst from her warm, brown eyes, streaming down her cheeks that were red with embarrassment and anger._

"_Why?" Rachel muttered, her shoulders quaking._

_Santana shook her head, looking away from that pitiful face before she broke right then and there on that porch. She needed to keep it up. She needed to make it as believable and cold and harsh as she could because that was the only way Rachel would believe. It was the only way she knew Rachel would keep her distance if only for a while until Santana herself could put herself back together and hold face._

"_We're done," she breathed, reaching in to grab the knob of the door and yanked it shut so hard the wooden panels shook._

_The last thing Santana heard was her name being screamed in the wind and the pounding of her boots as she ran away. _

_-/-/-/-_

The rain poured down in sheets. Heavy raindrops struck the cracked window of the little convenient store they had found in a never-ending chorus of harsh staccatos. Santana watched it from where she sat on her sleeping bag in the back corner of what she guessed had been the break room; its greenish tint looked ghoulish against the white smog sky.

A leak in the ceiling plopped drops into an empty tin q can that Rachel every once in a while would get up to dump outside the employee door that was gradually getting flooded on the other side. Across the way, leaning again against the wall Rachel shifted positions from her head lolled back on her shoulders to her chin resting on her drawn up knees. She hated the rain, and told Santana she always had. Acidic or not, rain was never something she enjoyed.

"I knew it had to be something like that," said Rachel, breaking the silence. "I never believed you that night, or at least I tried not to. But the way you treated me after that made it harder to think anything otherwise." Rachel tilted her head so she could see Santana over the curve of her knee. "How you felt about me…what changed?"

"Life changed," Santana croaked. Her eyes followed a drop from the leak in the ceiling and she sighed. It would be a long time before they could leave.

"Was it Brittany?"

Santana cocked an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth threatened to kink up in an amused smirk. Brittany had been the one to find Santana sitting in her water trough, entire body submerged in the dirty water. Brittany pulled her out and scolded her good for scaring her even though Santana told her she hadn't been trying to kill herself. That didn't stop her from tattling to Mercedes who would stop by everyday after her shifts at the Clinic to check on her.

It was pointless, really. Why would she kill herself? It would change nothing. Shelby would've still gotten what she wanted and Rachel would've been crushed even more. It was better to live and watch Rachel walk around barely there and all there at the same time.

Santana shook the thoughts away. Sometime in the years they had learned to speak to one another again. Santana found a way to make conversation with Rachel without making it seem like she really cared. But in every insult, in every jab was the question if Rachel was okay or not. But the more Santana did, the more Rachel faded away and maybe it was better that way.

"Was it?" Rachel asked again.

"Would you feel better if I said it was?"

Rachel blinked in surprise before nibbling on her lip. "Probably not,"

"No," Santana let out a long breath as she lay back onto her sleeping bag. "It wasn't because of Brittany,"

"Oh," Rachel cleared her throat. Her hands twisted around one another in nervous habit. "Do you- do you ever think about us?"

"Seriously, Berry? Shut up," she pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes clenching. If the rest of her time with Rachel was going to be spent talking about these things, she didn't think she'd last.

"It's a simple question, Santana, and it's the least you could do to answer." Rachel grumbled, throwing her legs out in front of her to stretch. "Or do I need to hold a gun to your head to get anything out of you?"

Santana turned, meeting Rachel's cold expression with her own glare. "You know what?" she flipped over, putting her back to Rachel as she let out a halfhearted, "fuck you," and curled up into a tiny ball.

It was a position Santana had found herself doing for days after she slammed that door on Rachel's face. It was the only way to alleviate the ache that set into her gut when she was alone with only her thoughts to entertain her. The only thing she could think of was Rachel's face, the way her lip had quivered, and her heart shattered in those eyes once always so alive and now so dead.

Her mind replayed her begging, reaching out to grab any part of Santana only to be pushed away in more ways than one. And maybe it wouldn't have hurt so badly if it hadn't been all a lie. Maybe if somewhere in Santana she could've found a bit of truth to anything she said to Rachel. But the truth was her heart was in that eighteen-year-old girl's hands and was still hers, all shattered into shards and hardly beating.

The harsh beating of rain muffled the sniffle coming from Rachel's side of the room. Santana chanced a look over her shoulder to see Rachel still sitting with her back against the wall and eyes fixed on the drops that fell more frequently from the ceiling.

"You remember when you got caught in the rain?" Rachel's voice broke the silence. She kept her eyes turned up as a faint smile touched her lips. "You wouldn't let me touch you,"

"It hurt," Santana swallowed to wet her throat. "You wouldn't just leave it alone,"

"The blisters needed to be treated," Rachel stressed, finally blinking down to her. In all the years that had passed, Santana hadn't seen the ghost of such a smile on Rachel's face.

"I didn't need your help," Santana turned away from her again.

Rachel sucked her teeth in annoyance."You practically begged me to stay over,"

"It was either sitting in silence freezing in the tub for three hours going crazy in the silence or going crazy with the sound of your voice blabbing on and on."

"I sang too,"

"Don't remind me," Santana groaned though her insides warmed at the memory.

"It was your own fault," said Rachel, pouting. "When I told you to fly home to me, I didn't mean risk your safety trying to beat the rain back into Town. What would've happened had you been caught in the downpour?"

"I would've been scarred for life," Santana deadpanned.

"You always do that," Rachel mumbled. Santana herd her shifting on her sleeping bag. "You always make things sound like they don't really matter or like you don't care. Today, when you told me the truth, was the first time I've ever heard you be so…real. Even when you finally said you loved me." Rachel paused to glance over at Santana then sighed. "I suppose it helps in a way. If I pretend like you never meant it in the first place-"

"I liked it better when you sang," Santana muttered, her eyes staring at the cracking wall in front of her. "So unless you're going to put that mutant voice of yours to work the way I know you used to enjoy doing, then shut up so I can sleep." She heard Rachel slump back against the wall. Santana winced, turning to catch Rachel's eye. "Well?"

Rachel's mouth bobbed with lack of words. She looked down, face reddening and teeth gnawing her lip. Her hands clenched the fabric of her sleeping bag as she sniffed and started to hum a broken tune. Santana strained to hear what it was. She didn't recognize it and the way Rachel's voice gave out and hitched in parts didn't help.

Rolling back toward the wall, Santana closed her eyes as she listened to Rachel's voice ease out of a hum to a soft mumbling of words.

_Notice me  
__Take my hand  
__Why are we strangers when  
__Our love is strong  
__Why carry on without me?_

Rachel's voice gave out again to choppy humming. Santana curled her legs up, arms pulled against her chest and teeth biting into the knuckle of her fist. She should've known Rachel would pull something like that. She should've known that whatever came out of her mouth would either make her melt like her voice use to always do or it would make her shatter.

_I make believe  
__That you are here  
__It's the only way  
__I see clear  
__What have I done?  
__You seem to move on easy_

Closing her eyes released a tear that slipped down Santana's cheek and soaked into her sleeping bag. She bit down harder, feeling her teeth pierce skin but she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't let Rachel see or hear or know she cried. She had been keeping herself together since the day Shelby had given her the assignment and Rachel showed on her porch.

She had choked every emotion down that wanted to spring to the surface and told herself she could get through it. But she couldn't, and as Rachel sang on in a teary breath of a whisper, Santana knew she could only take so much more of this before she crumbled

_And every time I see you in my dreams  
__I see your face, you're haunting me  
__I guess I need you…_

"Santana?" Rachel whispered. Santana stayed still, her body aching with how tightly wound she held herself. She heard Rachel shift on her side of the room and the itchy threads of the rope slide around her ankle and tighten.

Rachel sighed long a hard before she whispered, "Goodnight, Santana,"

-/-/-/-

_Santana stepped into the Governor's Suite, making sure the door was closed tightly behind her. She stood in the middle of the room, staring at Shelby who stood at the large pan of windows that stretched at the back of the office. The darkness made it so she bled into night, but the hue of the moon lit up her face in a ghoulish smoky peach tone._

"_So?" Shelby said, still looking out into the night._

_Santana fought against the lump in her throat to choke out a small, "Done," she watched Shelby raise a wine glass to her lips and take a sip, her back still toward her. Santana seethed. "Satisfied?"_

"_Quite," Shelby laughed softly as she turned over her shoulder . "Good job, Santana. I knew I could always rely on you," She peered right into Santana's eyes. They reminded her too much of the crying pair she had left on the floor. "And now that you're assignment is done, I won't be needing you any longer."_

"_Ma'am?"_

"_Being a Scavenger is invite only," she said, coolly, turning to sit on the windowsill, "and for now I'm revoking that invitation to you."_

_Santana's fist balled at her sides at the growing smirk that pulled on Shelby's mouth. "For what?"_

"_Argue with me and you may never find yourself back here again, Santana," She lifted the wine glass back to her lips. The last bits of it went down her throat in a single, audible gulp. "You may go,"_

_Santana gave a terse nod. "Yes ma'am," she forced out before turning on her heels and leaving to the echo of Shelby's laughing at her back._

till next chapter


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